


i can't be in love with you ('cause you're a boy)

by clouds1132



Series: i can’t be in love with you (‘cause you’re a boy) [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No One Direction, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Anorexia, Best Friends, Boys In Love, Childhood Friends, Churches & Cathedrals, Coming Out, Denial of Feelings, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay, Growing Up, Homophobia, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), POV First Person, Pansexual Character, Pining, Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Discussion, Romance, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 97,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26658697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clouds1132/pseuds/clouds1132
Summary: A high school AU in which Louis has finally come to terms with his sexuality after falling in love with his best friend of nearly a decade. The only thing that's stopping him from living out is his parents... and his church, and his sisters, and his friends, himself, and well... the list goes on forever.Featuring a few platonic laddy lad dates between two lads who are definitely not in love with each other, lots of pining, church sermons, annoying friends, a horrific coming out incident, St Patrick's Day 'parties', overbearing parents and Zayn as the only s(z)ane friend.Basically just a fictionised version of what has happened in my life over the past year (minus the falling in love part because I don't even know how to fall in love. It was just because fanfictions need romance but I don't have any romance in my life at the moment).
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Original Female Character(s)
Series: i can’t be in love with you (‘cause you’re a boy) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062167
Comments: 34
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1 (idk what to call this)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I'm back with my first non-one-shot fanfic because I finally managed to stay motivated throughout the whole writing process for once. Firstly, thanks to the 1000+ people that bothered to read my last fanfic (it was kind of trashy, I'll admit).
> 
> Anyways, this story is sort of a half-memoir. It's basically focused on my coming out story, me dealing with my homophobic parents and church, and the things that have happened in my life throughout the past year or so. However, it's not true in the romantic aspect because I did not fall in love with my best friend; the romance between Harry and Louis is just for general fanfiction purposes. I'll probably tell you which sections of the story are true and made up at the end of each chapter. Also, the timeline is a bit disordered because I didn't want to write a story that spans a whole year, and I'm also not 17 yet so...
> 
> With that being said, almost all of the characters are based on people I know in real life. Louis is based on me, Harry's story is based on one of my best friends (not personality-wise though) and Zayn, Liam, Niall and Nick are also based on four of my other friends. Disclaimer, Louis' parents are not connected to his actual parents in any way, but they're based on my own parents. Harry's parents are also based on my best friend's parents, although they don't really play much of a role in the story. Louis' siblings are not based on anyone I know in real life.
> 
> Thanks to anyone who sticks with this story as I continue to update it (it's fully written). It was originally supposed to be a crack fic but I need somewhere to pour out all of my feelings so it turned kinda angsty. My main intention is to rant and also let you know that if you're in the same boat as I am, you're not alone. I'll be updating once a week or earlier, depending on what I feel like (I don't really like schedules). I also use brackets/parenthesis a lot throughout the story idk why and I forgot that British students wear uniforms but that's whatever. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this crappy book, even though it kinda sucks ! Bless all of you <3 !
> 
> Warnings: boyxboy, swearing, homophobia, eating disorder, ignorant characters (if that bothers you).

Last night, I dreamt that I was at my funeral… well, not my legitimate funeral, my emotional funeral. My funeral after all the secrets that have been trapped within me finally leak and somehow find their way into everyone’s ears. My funeral where I’m backed into a corner in a dark alleyway - the type of alleyway where gangs meet up, deal weed and graffiti on the walls. The kind of alleyway where I find myself isolated while my enemies and my friends join forces to humiliate me. My funeral where my family doesn’t even dare to think about me ever again because of how ashamed of me they are.

I’m not usually an overly superstitious person, but sometimes I force myself to believe that dreams are a prediction of the future (I’ve done some research and found that around 68% of people believe dreams somewhat foretell the future). Sometimes, I hate the way I think but I can’t stop myself from thinking that way. Sometimes, I even wish that my sleep would become void of dreams so I don’t end up stressing about my future. My thought process is confusing as hell, I know, but my dreams baffle and scare me even more. 

Sometimes, Zayn and I hang and I listen attentively as he tells me all about the fantastical dream he had the night before. His dreams, I find, mostly consist of him becoming some sort of superhero and somehow saving the world while wearing a Cinderella dress. His dreams are what make me doubt the foretelling of the future but it’s my dreams that make me doubt my doubts.

Somehow, while Zayn manages to have these sorts of dreams, I’m stuck with the awful dreams that predict my death, and they’re not just ordinary deaths; they’re slow and painful deaths where the knife pierces my skin slow and steady like it wants me to suffer for as long as possible before I pass. Gosh, I’m only 17 and I’m not ready to die yet, and certainly not that morbidly! It really doesn’t help that my dreams are pretty bloody realistic, unlike Zayn’s.

I don’t know what I did wrong in life to deserve these types of dreams. As I said before, I’m not superstitious and I don’t believe in Karma, but I do believe that wrongdoings have consequences.

Aside from having the most terrible dreams, I have so much other stuff to worry about every day - school, friends and family, you name it! But none of those combined make me more stressed than the potential disclosure of my secrets - my precious, little secrets that I’m planning on keeping to myself and myself only… forever.

***

“Wake up, Louis! You need to make yourself presentable for church!”

I groan and roll over in my bed, shoving my face into my pillow to drown out Mum’s calls. I could’ve sworn it was still 6:30 but then again, I haven’t even opened my eyes to look at my clock yet. I finally manage to force open one of my eyes and I squint as I glance at the clock. It’s 9:15. I groan again.

Sunday is part of the weekend and the weekend is meant for sleeping in. Have my parents no sympathy for me? I wake up at the arse-crack of dawn every day to go to school so I deserve some slack!

“We’re not going to be late this time!” she shouts again.

I bet she thinks I’m lazy but I can’t help it! I’m a teenager for goodness’ sake, and our body clocks are naturally shifted to two hours behind. It’s no help that my four younger sisters, who are all early birds, have yet to reach that stage!

Begrudgingly, I sit up on my bed and rub my eyes, before standing up and going to the bathroom to wash my face. I wish there was some sort of setting to turn the mirror on and off so it doesn’t have to remind me how much a piece of shit I look in the morning. I splash some cold water on my face before laggardly drying it with a towel and trudging back to my room.

I open my wardrobe and my eyes stray towards the section that contains my hoodies, almost like they’re magnetising. I know that if I wear something too casual, Mum will pester me until I put something more formal on. She thinks it’s disrespectful to God that I’m so slack when dressing up for church, but I argue back that I’d rather not be uncomfortable and fidgety while listening to the sermon (sometimes, I feel I look as if I’ve put itching powder in my pants).

I eventually choose one of my slightly oversized black hoodies, paired with some skinny jeans. As I slip them on, I realise that Mum will probably think black is too dark for church but I beg to differ. Black is formal. Black is what people wear to work. Black also happens to be what people wear to funerals.

When I finish flattening my hair, I head downstairs to the kitchen in order to eat some breakfast before we head off. I grab some cereal and pour it into a bowl before sitting down at the counter. Just like guessed, Mum stares down my outfit with an apprehensive expression.

“Louis, honey, you know I want you to wear something nicer to church,” she tells me as I munch on my cereal.

“Yeah, but I want to be comfortable while sitting in the service for over an hour.” I assert the same argument that I’ve been saying for the past, I don’t know, three years?

I wonder why she hasn’t given up yet, seeing as she’s consistently been bugging me about it every single week. She takes one last disappointed look at me before walking briskly out of the kitchen. I roll my eyes to myself, wondering why on earth she cares so much about my damn clothes. I’d like to sit in peace and try to enjoy my cereal, thank you very much.

At 9:45, Mum manages to round up all the girls so that we can walk together to church. Daisy and Phoebe usually see this as an opportunity for Dad and me to let them sit on our shoulders but I don’t mind because maybe being a good brother will compensate for my lack of appropriate clothing.

“Shoulders, Lou!” Daisy exclaims to me, tugging on my arm so I’ll oblige to her and squat down so she can climb on my shoulders.

“Whatever the princess says,” I tell her, smiling, as I bend down. I feel her clamber up onto my shoulders and I hold onto her legs so she doesn’t fall. I feel her hands grip onto my hair and I desperately hope she doesn’t mess it up too much.

“Your hair’s smelly,” she points out as she messes up my hair even more.

“Why, thanks,” I reply to her sarcastically and she bursts out into a fit of giggles.

The walk to church only takes ten minutes and we arrive a little before the service starts. I’m quite glad that my parents chose a relatively modern church because I’d honestly hate to make weekly visits to an old and dark cathedral that slightly resembles an abandoned hospital in a horror movie. This church also has a kids program so it’s better for the girls. 

Before we enter the building, Daisy slides off of my shoulders and runs towards the entrance of the room where the kid’s ministry takes place. It’s quite a bland room but every time I look at it, feelings of nostalgia rise up in my chest. That room is filled with both good and bad memories, memories I cherish and memories I want to forget.

As soon as all the girls have been signed-in, I follow my parents to the main chapel where the sermon takes place. We resume our weekly position at the front right and I lounge back in my chair as my parents send fake smiles towards strangers they’ve never met.

I’d rather be anywhere but here.

Soon, I feel a presence next to me and I look up to see one of my long-time friends, Liam, grinning at me. I smile back and pull him in for a hug.

“Hey, Liam,” I greet him, relieved that I’m not alone in the swarm of adults anymore.

“Morning, Lou. How are you?” he asks me, kindly.

Since growing up with Liam at church and school, I have discovered many things about him. Firstly, his greetings are (abnormally) extremely polite, even to his best friends who he could easily salute with a playful insult instead. However, he’s also down for a laugh anytime and it’s fun to hang out with him. Liam and I stick together at church and we usually sneak out to buy food while our parents are busy talking to strangers for three hours after the service.

“I’m alright, a bit tired,” I tell him. “You?”

“Same,” he replies. “I’ve got a truckload of homework to finish that’s due tomorrow.”

I give him a look. “Liam, we’re practically in all the same classes and I’ve barely gotten any homework.”

“I’m doing extra credit,” he tells me. “Need to bump up that score so I can get into some good unis.”

“Ambitious,” I comment as one of the church people go up to the stage and start talking.

I may or may not immediately zone out.

***

“Nick is getting a horse,” Liam tells me as he sips on his orange juice.

Liam and I have managed to escape the bustle of the church and are currently sitting in a nice café across the street for lunch. It’s customary for us to come here while we wait for our parents to finish chatting their mouths off. Liam is a funny guy to talk to and even though we always have the intention to stay calm and presentable in front of all the other customers, we often end up having try not to laugh challenges or falling into hysterics at memories of our friends.

I almost spit out my water but I don’t because that’d end up in a mess.

“A horse?!” I choke, my eyes widening in disbelief.

“Yeah, a horse,” Liam repeats. “You know that animal with four legs and some hair. The thing that people ride on for sports? Oh, come on, Lou. He’s been telling us about it for weeks, if not, months!”

I cough. “Yeah, I know, but I wasn’t expecting him to actually get one. I thought he was just trying to brag.”

Liam makes some noise of agreement. “Sounds like something he would do.”

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “I guess I should’ve expected it. He’s been taking lessons - doing a lot of riding.”

Liam laughs at my innuendo and discreetly flicks his eyes towards the cluster of old ladies that are seated behind us. I don’t think too much of it because they’re probably too caught up in their own conversation about knitting to listen to us talk trash about our friends.

“You’re the worst,” Liam says.

“The best,” I correct him. “Besides, Nick’s as straight as something that never bends.”

“Uh huh,” Liam responds. “He’s the only person I know that’s not even a little gay.”

I’m caught off-guard by that and I raise my eyebrows slightly in panic. My heart automatically starts racing in my chest and I feel my breath catch in my throat. Did he know?

“Wha…?” I stutter.

Liam’s eyebrows furrow and he eyes me weirdly. I die inside a little, preparing for my inevitable funeral. As I look at Liam’s face, I realise that I stupidly interpreted his statement completely wrong and he definitely wasn’t aiming it at me. Ugh. I curse my reaction to his words because now he probably knows. I mentally facepalm my idiotic forehead. Oh god.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks.

I blink and rid my worried thoughts from my head, lying, “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just, um, saw something outside that reminded me of something.”

Liam seems to accept my blatant lie and I’m glad that he’s considerate and doesn’t push it any further. 

“Anyway, Niall asked me to ask you if you wanted to go over to his house to hang out tonight, play some video games and such,” Liam says and I’m so grateful that he changes the subject.

I frown. “Yeah, of course… why didn’t he just ask me himself?”

I’m not surprised when Liam inhales deeply and gives me a look that tells me that Niall has done something stupid again.

“Oh god, what now?” I say, bracing myself for some sort of epic story that will inevitably end up in Niall either breaking something, losing something or hurting himself.

“Well,” Liam begins and I can already tell that this is going to be a gloriously disastrous one. “Yesterday, he went to the park with a few friends he met at some multicultural camp last summer. Long story short, he bet them ten pounds that he would have the guts to throw his phone into the lake. So, he lost your number… and everyone else’s numbers.”

“Oh my god,” I mutter, slapping my hand on my forehead in both amusement and disbelief. “Are you taking the piss? For ten pounds?”

“I’m extremely saddened and distraught to say that I’m not,” Liam shakes his head. “He actually did that.”

It’s fair to say that Niall has a tendency to make stupid bets that involve him doing stupid things in exchange for an unproportionate amount of money. But what can I say? Whatever floats his little currach.

“Oh Niall, oh Niall,” I say. “What are we going to do with you?”

“He’s a funny kid, he is - always diving straight into deep water,” Liam comments before taking his last gulp of water. “Should we head back now?”

***

“Are there going to be girls at the party?”

Mum is leaning on the side of the counter with her hand on her hip as she interrogates me as if I’m a nine-year-old. I roll my eyes and place my hand on the doorknob, hoping to show how eager I am to leave.

“No, Mum, there won’t be,” I say in an annoyed tone. “And for the last time, it isn’t a party. We’re just gonna talk and play some video games.”

Mum still looks like she doesn’t believe me and I don’t even know where she got it into her head that every time I go out, I’m going to a party. I’ve maybe been to one party in the past year and it was Niall’s St Patrick’s Day party (I wouldn’t even classify it as a party anyway because it was just a few hours of Niall talking about Ireland and convincing us to dress up as leprechauns).

“If you say so,” she mutters in a tone that really says she doesn’t trust me. “Be home by ten. You have school tomorr-”

I’m out of the house before she can finish her sentence because I can’t bear to have her stare me down any longer. Seems like now, every time she talks to me, she always has something to be suspicious about, and she’ll look at me with her scrutinising gaze as if she’s trying to figure out what sort of lies are rolling off of my tongue. Newsflash, Mum, I’m nearly an adult and I don’t need you badgering me about the clothes I wear or everything I do when I hang out with my friends.

It takes me less than five minutes to arrive at Niall’s house and before I can even lift my hand to knock, the door is flung wide open and I am greeted by Niall’s gigantic smile.

“Louis!” he exclaims as he gestures for me to enter. “Welcome to the House of Horan! We’re extremely delighted to have you with us!”

I roll my eyes fondly at him as I slip off my shoes and push them to the side.

“Niall, I’ve come here plenty of times and you say that every time,” I tell him as he closes the door behind us.

“‘scuse you,” he replies in mock offence. “I’m just tryna be welcoming to me guests. So if you don’t like that, I should just leave you outside to wither away in the cold.”

I laugh as I head towards the large couch in the living room. “It’s like twenty-five degrees. I’m sure I won’t wither away.”

“Fine, I’ll rephrase that,” Niall says as he jumps over the back of the couch and lands in an Indian-style sitting position. “I should just leave you outside to wither away in the cold while the rest of us gossip about you and get wasted.”

I give Niall a look. “Don’t tell me you have alcohol tonight.”

The blond sends me a cheeky smile as someone bangs loudly on the door.

“Looks like someone else is here!” he smirks at me, slipping out of sight and avoiding my question. That little rat.

I hear the door open again and this time, I barely catch Niall greeting the person with the exact same greeting that he told me and I roll my eyes at his antics.

“What an honour it is to be invited to this humble abode,” the person replies and I immediately recognise Zayn’s Bradford accent coming in strong.

I spot Zayn’s quiff as he appears around the corner with an excited Niall bouncing around behind him. Zayn smiles at me and bends down to hug me and I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Louis,” he greets, standing back up straight and running a hand through his hair. “Having a good day?”

“Quite good, actually,” I tell him before looking over at Niall, who seems to be talking to one of his mum’s succulents. “But Niall, over here, seems to be having an even better day. Niall, how’s your phone situation?”

Niall immediately turns around to look at me with a glare. “Me phone is perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

Zayn furrows his thick, dark eyebrows. “What happened to his phone?”

Niall quickly starts, “It was-”

“He threw it into a lake,” I interrupt, smirking at Niall as his face fades to a deep red in embarrassment.

“You what?” Zayn questions in disbelief and I certainly don’t blame him.

“Louis is bullying me,” Niall states flatly before someone else knocks on the door and he luckily has an excuse to escape my ‘bullying’.

Zayn laughs to himself at Niall’s flushed face as he sits down on the opposite end of the couch from me. Normally, Zayn likes to sit on the side of the couch where it extends so he can lie down and sleep, but today, I stole it from him. He doesn’t complain, though, because he can probably fall asleep anywhere, anyway.

“The whole gang is here!” Niall exclaims as he enters the room in high spirits again, with Liam and Harry trailing behind him. I shoot a smile at Liam and look at Harry as he places a bag on the table. Harry has a tradition of cooking or baking something for us whenever we hang out and we all love him for it, especially Niall; he usually eats the majority of it.

“Ayy,” Zayn cheers before looking around at all of us and frowning. “Where’s Nick?”

We all turned to Niall who looks at us with a guilty expression, although there’s no regret in his eyes.

“Well… you see, I may or may not have skipped his invitation…?” he tells us cautiously as if he was a child admitting to eating the last cookie. Then he says quickly, “He’s probably too busy with his horse anyway.”

I smile and shake my head at Niall’s tomfoolery because I know that deep down, everyone is grateful that he didn’t extend the invitation to Nick. To put it into the kindest words possible, Nick is a real party pooper.

“He said he’s allergic to alcohol anyway because it burns his throat,” Niall shrugs before bursting out laughing so hard that his eyes start sweating. “He says it burns his throat!”

“Now, now, Niall,” Liam says, ruffling the blond’s hair as he curls up on the couch and laughs. “Let’s not make fun of Nick while he’s innocently having fun with his new horse.”

Niall swipes at his eyes and sits up, his face red again as he forces himself not to laugh. Just as he stands up to fetch whatever video games he has from his room, Harry steals his seat on the couch and stretches his arms out and rests them on the back. I smile.

“So, Niall has alcohol,” he says, looking over to Liam and me. “What’s it for you church kids?”

“Oh, shut up, Harry,” I retort, rolling my eyes. “You’re a church kid, too.”

“Your mum would ground you if she heard you say that,” he tells me, his green eyes glistening mysteriously.

I smile sweetly and rephrase, “Please close your mouth, Harold, and please refrain from speaking to me. Please.”

“You two are idiots,” Zayn comments as he checks his hair in his phone camera.

“I’m back!” Niall yells, holding up 5 or so games and running around the couch so he can lay them out on the table. “So we can play FIFA, Halo, Mario, Super Smash or, um, Pigeons Attack…”

“Well, we still need to have our rematch of Mario…” Liam reminds us, refreshing my memories of a few weeks ago when Niall cheated by covering our faces with blankets so we wouldn’t be able to see. Nonetheless, he still ranked pretty low and then he had the sheer audacity to blame us for distracting him.

“Mario it is!” Niall says, taking out the disk and setting up the game. He passes out the controllers to us and then squeezes his arse between Liam and me, where there is virtually no space.

“Same teams?” Zayn questions as he connects his controller to the system.

Niall groans. “Ugh, but Harry and Louis always win. We shouldn’t put the best players together.”

“Tough luck, Niall,” I tell him, ruffling his hair and standing up. I walk over to where Harry’s sitting and gesture for Liam and Niall to move over. Reluctantly, Niall scoots his arse over to the side and I sit down next to Harry. He offers the controller to me.

“You want to play first?” he asks me.

I shrug and take it from him. “Yeah, why not? We’ll just alternate.”

When the game’s set up, Niall chooses Mushroom Cup because he’s a wuss and Harry gets ready to commentate in his mock commentary voice.

“And now, we have Mr Bradford Bad Boy Zayn Malik as Baby Princess Peach starting in ninth, Dr Straight A’s Liam Payne as Yoshi starting in tenth, Irish Horan as Wario starting in eleventh, and last but not least, Mr Louis the Tommo Tomlinson as Luigi starting in twelfth but obviously finishing first,” Harry says, his voice deeper and more professional than usual. “We’re starting in three, two, one!”

I focus on making a good start by accelerating to the front of the group, hoping that my luck won’t treat me badly. Usually, when I take the lead at the beginning of a game, I somehow always sink to the bottom and end up losing. Mario is the only lead that I can possibly maintain.

“And Luigi jumps to second as Wario, unfortunately, makes a bad start by coming in last. Oh, looks like Wario just launched a blooper and now everyone else’s screens are blotted with ink because as I said before, he is coming in last,” Harry drawls, emphasising on the last part.

Niall huffs. “Don’t rub it in, mate.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry jokes, sending a cheeky grin in Niall’s direction. “Looks like Yoshi has just slipped on a banana and is now doing some very fancy pirouettes inside his car. He’s gone from fifth to tenth.”

Liam makes a grunt of frustration as he desperately tries to speed up.

“Peach seems to be doing very well on her motorbike, grabbing some coins here and there but unfortunat-” he corrects himself, “fortunately, she’s not doing quite well enough to pass the superior Luigi! Anddd, Luigi is the first to start his second lap.”

“Woo,” I cheer quietly as I get a rush of adrenaline.

“Dammit!” Niall exclaims from the other side of the couch and I see his part of the screen get darker and darker. I stifle a laugh.

“Wario has just fallen off the map and now he is resuming his usual position in tenth place, or should I say, last place,” Harry playfully teases Niall. “And oh! Luigi has just lapped Wario! Well done, Luigi.”

“Thanks, mate,” I say.

“You’re very welcome,” Harry replies. “Peach and Yoshi are still cruising along peacefully in second and fourth place respectively but Peach is nowhere near to catching up with Luigi! It seems to me that Luigi is way out of everyone’s league here.”

“Oh, stop bloody sucking up to him, Harry!” Zayn exasperates and I grin.

“It’s helping,” I respond, simply.

After another lap or so, the race ends and Niall sulks quietly in his corner of the couch, but it’s all in good fun.

“And Luigi finishes in first place, as I expected!” Harry cheers exuberantly. “Peach comes in second, Yoshi in fifth and Wario… well, Wario, unfortunately, did not pass the finish line.”

Liam laughs and pats Niall on the head. “Cheer up, mate. You’ll get there sometime.”

I pass the controller over to Harry so he can play and we switch roles so I’m now the commentator.

“You guys okay with the same characters and vehicles?” I ask and everyone nods in clarification. “Okay, let the race begin!”

I make stupid comments about everything that’s going on with the game, occasionally teasing Niall and making distracting remarks. Niall had eventually given in to Liam requesting a harder track and he definitely regretted it, seeing as he fell off the map about seven times and started going backwards. In the end, Harry comes in first and we rejoice our team win.

“‘s’not fair,” Zayn complains. “You two are too good and never let us win!”

I raise up my hands in surrender. “Sorry about it. How about we don’t play this round so one of you three can win?”

“Please,” Liam stresses, leaning back on the couch and rubbing his eyes.

“Can you get food?” Niall requests and we all laugh.

“Okay fine, fine. Come on, Lou,” Harry says, standing up and holding out his hands to pull me up. I follow him as he grabs the bag that he had previously placed on the table and walks into the kitchen.

When one first walks into the Horan’s kitchen, it looks quite like a normal kitchen but when the cupboards and drawers are open, it’s definitely not normal. They have cutlery with green, white and orange stripes painted on, plate and bowls with clovers printed on the perimeters and cups with little leprechauns carved into the sides. The Horan family is Irish.

Apparently, according to Niall, he also has one half of the pantry and one-quarter of the fridge that are dedicated to himself, and contain a variety of junk food and drinks. It’s safe to say that Niall loves his food.

Harry unzips his bag and takes out a bag of frozen chips and a box of frozen pizza. He throws his bag off to the side somewhere and begins to open the bag. 

“Didn’t make something this time?” I inquire as I open a few drawers to find some trays, oil and baking paper. 

“Nah, didn’t have time,” Harry replies. “I was at church all afternoon.”

I hum and pull out a sheet of baking paper, placing it on the tray so Harry can pour the chips on it.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” I ask him.

“Had to help out with the kids’ church celebration day,” he explains, carefully placing the pizza on a round tray that I oiled. The handles of the tray are clovers and I’m beginning to wonder if the Horan’s ever have guests that question how Irish everything is.

I furrow my eyebrows. “What are they celebrating?”

“Dunno… Jesus, God,” he shrugs before looking up at me as if he knows what I’m thinking. “It wasn’t fun at all. I had to do a puppet show about the Good Samaritan.”

His usually bright, green eyes reflect nothing but pain and a wide smile breaks on my face. “Aw, Hazza. I bet you were a joy to watch. I wish I could’ve been there.”

“Shut it, Tommo,” he snaps, glaring at me before opening the oven and sliding in the trays. He sets the timer to seventeen minutes and I discard the rubbish. “You haven’t any experience to know how painful it is.”

I scoff and cross my arms. “Says you! I have four younger sisters!”

“Imagine forty,” he grumbles, his forehead creasing into a frown. “Most humiliating day of my life.”

I lean forward to place my hand on his shoulder and look into his jokingly wounded eyes sincerely. “Just be grateful that none of us were there to witness it, okay?”

He lets out a staggered breath and looks up to the ceiling as if he’s thanking the heavens. “I would’ve never heard the end of it if that happened. All of you are tossers.”

I grin and remove my hand. “Thanks, mate. Appreciate it.”

I lean back on the counter, listening to the action that’s happening in the other room and it seems like Niall is placing something other than last. Liam is making neutral comments that prove him to be somewhere in the middle and Zayn is coming first. But of course, Harry and I will always reign as the Mario Kart champions. 

“Hey, you know the new Harry Potter movie is coming out on Thursday,” Harry starts suddenly and I raise my eyebrows. “You want to go and watch it?”

I bite my lip and look up at him questioningly.

“You can tell your parents we’re watching Easy A or Barbie or something,” he quickly adds.

“Haha,” I humour him. “But yeah, sure. I actually did watch all the other movies illegally so I won’t be lost.”

“What a rebel,” he chuckles before looking at the oven timer to see that there is still five minutes left. “I’ll text you the time afterwards.”

“Sure, thanks.”

For a while, we rest in a comfortable silence, keeping our ears open to Niall yelling expletives at poor Wario as his accent gets thicker with each word. Liam occasionally comments on how he keeps missing coins and spinning on bananas, and Zayn is mostly focused. Sometimes, it’s amusing to listen to the commentary without seeing what’s actually going on.

The oven beeps suddenly, mildly shocking me and making goosebumps rise on my skin. Harry slips on one of the Horans’ oven mitts and opens the over, taking out the trays and placing them on the table. I locate a bowl and pour the chips in it while Harry cuts up the pizza.

“We’re such a domestic couple, aren’t we,” I muse, as I sprinkle extra salt onto the chips.

“Hm, yeah,” Harry nods and smiles. “Niall is the child, and Liam and Zayn can be the grandparents. We’re one, happy family.”

After adding a very generous amount of salt to the chips, I head towards the living room just as Zayn passes the finish line.

“I come back bearing food!” I announce, placing the chips on the table before resuming my seat on the couch.

Niall, not even caring to try and make it to the finish line, dives for the food and immediately stuffs his mouth, his hands already covered in grease and salt. His eyes light up even more when Harry brings the pizza and he devours that down too. Liam is more… modest with his eating and Zayn says he’s full so he doesn’t touch the food at all, but it’s quite interesting to watch the contrasting characters.

At 10 pm, I bid my farewells to them lot and start my walk home in the dark. Turns out that Niall didn’t even have alcohol and he was just giving us false hope. 

***

Monday rolls around fast enough and as per usual, I forced myself out of bed in a disinclined manner, waking my sluggish self up with a splash of cold water on my face. After getting dressed in a casual jumper and a pair of sweats, I hop downstairs to see the twins already eating.

Phoebe looks up at me with her big, blue eyes and I can practically feel the judgement swimming around in her brain. “Your hair looks like the nest in the tree outside.”

I hastily run my hand through my hair and flatten it. “Gosh, you two really have things to say about my hair. First, it’s smelly and now it’s a nest?”

Phoebe stares at me innocently. “Jesus says it’s a sin to lie.”

I raise my eyebrows at her before grabbing my usual cereal, pouring it into my bowl and wolfing it down so I can get out of the house as soon as possible. I quickly run back upstairs to fetch my bag and sling it over my shoulder as I speed down the stairs two steps at a time.

“Bye, girls,” I say, wrapping one of my arms around each twin. “Be good for your teachers.”

“Bye bye, Lou,” they chorus back and I immediately flee to the door, hoping to escape before Mum catches me.

“Not so fast, young man,” her voice stops me in my tracks and I reluctantly take my hand off of the doorknob and turn to face her.

I’m surprised that even at such an early time like this, adrenaline is already pumping through my veins and I’m eager to leave. But instead, I look up at Mum and roll back and forth on my heels, awaiting her lecture.

She sighs in distress and I mentally groan. What is she going to go on about now?

“I really wish you would wear something more presentable,” she tells me, gesturing to, what I thought was a fabulous choice of an outfit. “This… this is something you would wear if you’re having a lazy day in the house. Your teachers won’t be happy to see the lack of effort you put into your presentation.”

Why does this happen literally every day? I am so over it.

“Mum,” I snap in complete and utter irritation. “The teachers don’t care if I wear pyjamas to school, as long as I pay attention in class, okay? Now, I’d like to be early for school for once so if you’d excuse me…”

I turn around furiously and pull open the door, walking out of the house. I’m careful not to slam the door too hard behind me but I fail to do so before she ever-so-promptly reminds me to join the Bible club at lunchtime. I’m sick of it. Maybe next time, I shouldn’t show so much mercy and walk out of the door before she even gets the chance to talk to me.

I always thought I was just not an early riser, but now I know why I’m so irritable in the mornings.

I walk briskly down the path with my eyes trained on the cracks in the ground and my hands stuffed in the pockets of my sweats, not wanting to make eye contact with any passerbys. Good for them, though, that I’m considerate enough to not unleash my death glare at them.

“Lou, wait up!” a Bradford accent calls from behind me and I turn around to see none other than Zayn running to catch up with me.

As much as I don’t want to converse with people right now, I will myself to tolerate Zayn because he’s always done the same for me. I let out a shaky exhale as I calm myself down and he approaches me with a grin on his face.

“Hey, Zayn,” I say, matching my stride with his.

“Lovely sky this morning, don’t you think?” he asks me and I love that he isn’t so overbearing in the morning.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” I reply simply, not really knowing what else to say.

“Mum been on your back?” he asks and I’m so grateful that Zayn’s strong sixth sense can pick up whenever I’m feeling down or frustrated. He’s a great friend.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” I reply, kicking at a stone that was in my path. “Keeps hounding me about my clothes and going to Bible club.”

I can tell that Zayn’s sympathetic, just by how the mood shifts. “That’s too bad. If you want, you can always tell her that I smoke, have tattoos and skive off whenever I have the chance, and then you’ll seem like an angel child.”

I chuckle lightly. “Thanks for the offer but she’ll probably either pass out of shock or call your parents and rat about your ‘sinful’ behaviour.”

“My parents probably already know,” Zayn shrugs. “Just haven’t gotten around to talking to me about it yet. You know, Niall got drunk last night after you left.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Seriously?”

Zayn nods and laughs. “Funny story, but then again, when is it not a funny story with Niall? He found a bottle of champagne in his pantry somewhere and was utterly convinced that it was one of those make-shift, non-alcoholic parodies. He chugged the whole thing.”

I cover my face in my hands and laugh. “Oh no, Niall. What have you done?”

“He was off his arse!” Zayn exclaims. “You should’ve seen him, walking around like a zombie and all. He went to his TV and accused it of being a possessed mirror because it was just a black screen.”

“Damn,” I mutter. “I would kill to see that.”

“Oh, our little leprechaun,” Zayn shakes his head fondly. “He’s a gem.”

“Truly,” I reply as we approach the gates of the school.

The building it encloses is not a very big one, but it’s somehow large enough to fit just under a thousand students. It’s basic and while basic is good because I have less chance of getting lost, it’s also bad because it seems like we’re missing out on a bunch. For starters, some schools have swimming pools and separate fields for soccer, hockey and tennis, but what do we have? We have a patch of unevenly-levelled dead grass behind the gym.

The locker situation is also extremely tight and of course, I was so luckily designated a locker in the locker room that once used to be a 2 by 3.5-metre office. There are eighty lockers in there and it is safe to say that I feel especially suffocated and swarmed by the stenches of unwashed armpits while I’m in there. But, I’m lucky enough that I’m stuck with Harry as well as… Nick…. ugh.

Zayn and I part ways at the stairs and I walk down the corridor towards the other flight of stairs that leads directly to the tiny-ass locker room. The stairs are extremely narrow and there is barely enough space for two people to fit. It’s a wonder how the stairs haven’t collapsed yet, considering the number of times we have had to line up on them in order to actually get into the locker room.

I don’t bother to look up at the students I pass that I don’t know because they’re wrapped up in their own private conversations anyway. But of course, as soon as I spot my locker, I also spot Nick. I send him a tight, forced smile.

“Hey, Nick,” I greet cordially, saying ‘hey’ instead of ‘hi’ so I don’t seem too unfriendly.

“Louis!” he exclaims happily, wrapping his arms around me for a hug. I want to flinch away but I don’t. “Hey, did I tell you that I finally got my new horse?”

I want to cut the conversation short by excusing myself to the toilets but the look of pure excitement on his face would make me feel guilty if I did so.

“Um, no, actually. You didn’t,” I reply, even though I definitely have heard about it.

“Well,” he begins and I brace myself for the throw up-inducing roller coaster of his. “We got Rosalina on Saturday, along with some other horse riding equipment and then I rode her for the first time. It was a little bumpy and weird at first but then I got used to it and settled in on her. So now, I can ride her whenever I want instead of having to wait to ride another horse once a week at lessons.”

Nick grins at me proudly and I so desperately want to crack a dirty joke, but Nick is literally the most innocent person I know. Instead, I decide to preserve his holiness and just smile and nod.

“Sounds fun,” I lie between my teeth. “Send me a photo of her, will you?”

“Of course,” Nick replies. “Literally, my whole camera roll is filled with pictures of her now.”

“Mhm,” I reply, shoving my bag in my locker and closing the door before turning back to Nick. “Hey, do you know if Harry’s here yet?”

“In the library,” he responds. “Dunno why he’d wanna be there but whatever. I’m going to find Zayn.”

I immediately feel sorry for Zayn but I mask my pity by giving Nick a curt nod before fleeing out of the locker room and rushing down the stairs towards the library. I probably should’ve been able to guess that Harry’s in the library because he always comes to school early and either hangs around the lockers or goes to the library to read.

I enter the library and immediately, the atmosphere converts from the boisterous chatter and noise of outside to the quiet and calm of inside. I never spend too much time in the library, but it’s oddly soothing when I do. I can see why Harry likes it here so much.

I spot him sitting on a couch with his head down and a book sitting on his lap, and I don’t realise a small smile creeping onto my face. I make my way past all the other students who are either reading, doing homework or playing games and sit myself down next to him.

“Hey,” I say quietly, as to not disturb anyone. “What’cha reading?”

He looks up at me and smiles softly. “Hey, Lou.”

He turns the book so I can see the front cover, which reads The Motion of Light and Water. I can’t help but feel like all that title is screaming at me is physics, physics and more PHYSICS. But it doesn’t look like a textbook of any sort, so I don’t want to assume.

“What’s it about?” I question.

“‘s’just a memoir about the author, who’s a black, gay man, and his life,” he tells me.

I just nod politely, knowing that I’ll never have the type of focus that Harry has that allows him to sit still for over five minutes and understand words on a paper and somehow connect them into a plot. 

“Sounds interesting,” I say, clasping my hands in my lap as he sighs and closes the book, placing it on one of the empty book holders on the coffee table in front of us.

“Did Nick harass you this morning too?” he asks and I shouldn’t be surprised that he brings up exactly what I was just about to complain about. “I’d hate to be the only one he did that to.”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head and popping the ‘p’. “You’re not the only one.”

I exhale loudly as my eyes wander over to a few girls that are entering the library with their books and pencil cases.

“I kinda feel bad for complaining so much about him behind his back,” I admit, crossing one of my calves over the other.

Harry grips the edge of the couch and hums. “But to be fair, he does talk shit about us to our faces and behind our backs… Tell me he didn’t say something bad about me to you this morning.”

I tilt my head to the side and press my lips together. “He expressed his disgust for you spending your free time in the library.”

“Well, there you go. Sad thing is, I don’t know whether to peg his comments as inconsiderate or ignorant. Sometimes, I just don’t know if he’s being rude on purpose or not.”

“Could be both,” I shrug. “He’s quite self-righteous and strongly-opinionated, as well as outspoken, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just tryna voice his unfiltered thoughts. I know it’s annoying.”

“Very,” Harry agrees. “I’m going to try and subtly hint my disapproval of his comments when he says them again.”

“Not a bad idea,” I agree, and I really do agree.

***

“-and then he tried to do a flip but instead, he fell on the edge of the trampoline!” Nick exclaims, his eyes watering as he laughs. “You should’ve seen his face!”

At the beginning of lunch, Nick decided that it would be a wonderful idea for him to ramble on and on about our embarrassing stories when we were younger (not many include Liam since he joined our group in secondary school). I can truthfully say that none of his stories are remotely funny in the slightest, because they are mostly stories about us hurting ourselves… badly.

In fact, the story he’s recounting is derived from when we attended a mutual friend’s tenth birthday party, which was held at a trampoline park. I was jumping along one of the long trampolines before attempting a flip into the foam pit. Unfortunately for me, I flipped too early, which resulted in me landing on the hard corner of the trampoline before falling in the pit.

I’m not sure why he’s laughing about it because when I manage to struggle my way out of the pit and walk back to the rest of the group, I could barely breathe, which was probably why my face was pained - because I was wheezing badly. The supervisor literally had to press my back repetitively to get me to breathe. It was humiliating, not funny.

At this point, I’m becoming increasingly annoyed at Nick’s clear ignorance for anyone else’s feelings other than his own, so I speak up. “Actually, it was really embarrassing ‘cause I had to lie on the ground with my shirt up while he pressed my back, and everyone was watching.”

Nick’s body is still shaking and he’s wheezing. but in the laughing sort of way. “But you’ve got to admit that it was kinda funny.”

“Not really, no,” Harry shakes his head wistfully and Nick has the audacity to give him a strange look.

“Yeah. I agree with Harry,” Zayn pipes up, reassuring me with his eyes. I send a thankful glance back.

“Me too,” Liam nods. “Can’t imagine what it’d feel like to be in that position.”

I force myself to stop a smile spreading on my face at our collective disapproval of Nick’s ignorance. Nick frowns as if he doesn’t understand why we’re talking back to him and now I feel like should just bask in his second-hand embarrassment.

“Geez, guys,” he grumbles, holding up his hands in surrender. “You don’t need to be so dramatic. Didn’t realise you were all so sensitive.”

He looks around at us with his eyebrows furrowed and I create an analogy in my head of a king that has just been disrespected by his servants. Except, Nick, in this case, was certainly not entitled to any superiority over us.

“Sorry about it,” Harry mutters under his breath and I catch his eye with a mischievous glint. 

Nick, an offended expression plastered on his face, stands up and looks down at us gathered around the table. “I have tennis tryouts now. Call me back when you guys learn how to be respectful of other people’s feelings.”

With that, he walks away without a glance back to us and as soon as he’s gone, we all make eye contact with each other. I scoff inwardly. He’s certainly one to talk.

Sometimes, I wonder how I’ve managed to be friends with this guy for over a decade.

***

The rest of the school day flows smoothly without any interaction with Nick whatsoever. Every class, I see him with the same bratty pout on his face and the same bad attitude. One time, I even catch him staring at me with his frown but as soon as he sees me looking back, he averts his eyes to somewhere else. It sounds cruel of me, I know, but I force myself to resist every urge I have to slap his face into a brick wall.

As I approach my house, I inhale deeply, dreading whatever Mum has to lecture me about next. Don’t get me wrong, I love her and all, but sometimes, she just gets way too overbearing. I’m a teenager and I want to live my life. These years of my youth are years I’m never going to be able to get back, so I don’t see why she pushes so hard to mould me into a person that I’m not.

Nonetheless, I can’t help but feel guilty since she and Dad have provided me with everything I have - shelter, food, clothes, etc. I know I should be grateful, but sometimes, I just can’t.

I tentatively place my hand on the knob before letting out a sigh and opening the door to reveal the inside of the house. I immediately spot Mum behind the kitchen counter, wearing her apron and furiously mixing something in a bowl. She looks up at me as I enter.

“Hi, honey,” she greets me with a small smile, and I can tell it’s forced. Her cheeks don’t move upwards as they should. I almost curse myself for being such a disappointment.

“Hey, Mum,” I reply, fiddling with the straps of my bag as I stand across the room from her awkwardly.

“How was school today?” she questions and I already know her questions are inevitably going to lead to something I don’t want to end up having an argument about.

Luck is on my side if, for once, she doesn’t push it today.

“Fine, fine,” I say and the distorted response rolls off of my tongue naturally. 

“Do you have any homework?” she queried as she poured whatever she was mixing before into a pot over the stove.

“Yeah, some maths and stuff, but not too much,” I shrug simply, impatiently waiting for this torturous interrogation to be over. I know, most people would be overjoyed that their parents are checking up on them and caring about them, but it doesn’t feel like she’s just trying to be caring. There’s always an ulterior motive.

She switches on the stove and I see the blue fire ignite under the pot before she turns to face me.

“And did you go to the Bible club at lunchtime?”

My breath hitches in my throat and even though I know I suck at lying (Zayn and Harry tell me this every time they catch one of my lies, which unfortunately happens to be every time I tell a lie) but I try my best anyway. I plaster a small smile on my face and nod.

“Yeah, yeah, I did. It was pretty fun,” I fib, immediately kicking myself for describing Bible club as ‘fun’.

Luckily, Mum seems to believe me and continues probing me. “What did you learn?”

By now, my heart is practically sprinting in my chest and my stomach is performing a gymnastics routine. Sometimes, I wonder why I put so much effort into lying about these things, but then I remember it’s because I don’t have the courage to come clean and stand up for myself. I’m sure my facial expression has probably allowed Mum to see through my facade, but I continue falsifying because I don’t know what else to do.

“Um, uh… we just read some psalms and stuff,” I stutter, mentally reminding myself to at least have some knowledge of Bible verses and stories in my brain before trying to lie. That would make it more believable.

“That’s good,” Mum nods. “Off to do your homework now and remember to do your devotions, okay? The girls and your dad are all at Lottie and Fizzy’s school for their art exhibition.”

I nod back at her and speed-walk out of the kitchen, hopping up the stairs and into the safety of my room. I toss my bag to the corner and flop on my bed, heaving a sigh of relief. I did it. I managed to survive another after-school interrogation.

I roll onto my back and grab my phone from my pocket because I plan to procrastinate my homework as much as I possibly can before they’re due. Plus, what better way to waste time than to end up spending hours of valuable time on social media? I don’t care that I allow myself to fall into that hole.

I open the phone app and my finger hovers over my recents as I ponder over who to call. I want to call Zayn, but I already talked to him a lot today, and he doesn’t need to bear any more of my problems. I consider calling Niall but realise that he’s probably still passed out on his bed due to being wasted. Liam, I almost call, but then remember that he has baseball training on Monday afternoons. No way, I’m going to call Nick, and I don’t even know why he’s in my recents.

That leaves Harry.

I slowly press his name, close my eyes and hold up my phone, letting it ring in my ear. I desperately hope I’m not being a pain in his arse and disturbing him, but to my relief, he picks up after three rings.

“Louis?” he says from the other line, and my lips curve into a smile at the sound of his deep-ish voice.

“Haz… hey,” I reply, wondering if I should’ve waited until I actually had something to talk about before I called.

“You alright?” his voice comes again, dripping in concern and I can practically feel him frowning.

“Yeah,” I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Just felt like talking to someone… You’re not busy, are you?”

I hear Harry move around and I assume he’s probably made himself comfortable on his bed, just like me.

“No, no, I’m not… I always have time for you,” he reassures me sweetly and my heart immediately swells in my chest at his comment. I can’t help but feel like maybe I’m not supposed to feel like this?

“Thanks,” I breathe. “What are you doing?”

I hear him move again.

“Well, I was actually just looking up times for our movie on Thursday,” he responds. “What do you think - 6:30 pm or 9 pm?”

I bite my lip. “What suits you best. I’m only allowed out until ten usually, but I’d like to stay out later for once in my life.”

“I can do nine if you want,” Harry tells me. “‘sides, we don’t even have school on Friday.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “We don’t? Why’s that?”

He informs me, “It’s a curriculum day. I’m sure your parents will be fine with it ‘cause it’s not a party and there are no girls.”

I snort. “Their biggest fear is me falling into temptation.”

Harry lets out a sweet chuckle and a shiver runs down my spine. “I can relate.”

For another forty-five minutes or so, I chat with Harry on the phone about whatever we can come up with - from our families to making up stupid would you rathers that don’t make any sense whatsoever. I feel like I’m back at age twelve, being immature, and giggling with my best mates. I like to savour this feeling before it all goes away.

“Okay, get this,” Harry says, the echo of his laugh still ringing in my ears. He clears his throat before he continues, “Would you rather wear sneakers for the rest of your life or wear trainers for the rest of your life.”

I facepalm at how pea-brained we are.

“Sneakers, duh,” I say in the midst of giggles. “I have one for you - would you rather freeze something whenever you touch it, or would you rather have something freeze whenever you touch it?”

Looking back, I realise that the moments I cherish most are the times when we’re just being our stupid, immature selves. The times where we talk on impulse about the first things that come to our brain, no matter how silly or crazy they are. The times where we don’t have to worry about other people judging us or mocking us for having fun.

“Louis! Time to eat!” I hear Mum call from downstairs and I take one last look at Harry’s name in my phone before shoving it in my pocket and heading to the kitchen. My eyes widen when I realise that it’s just going to be me and Mum for dinner. Oh God, please give me strength!

I hesitantly sit in a chair as she places a plate of spaghetti in front of me.

“Thanks, for the food,” I mumbled and really I am grateful, but I’m just not in the mood.

She sits opposite me and bows her head. I follow her action as she says a prayer, “Heavenly Father, we thank you for the food you have provided for us. May it give us the energy and strength to do your will. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

“Amen,” I mutter as I look up and dig into the food.

We sit in silence for a few moments and just I desperately wish I was hanging out with the lads, she looks up and smiles at me softly.

“Boo bear, it’s been so long since we’ve had mother-son time,” she tells me and I wince at the nickname. “I feel like we’re straying further and further away from each other so I hope we can use this time together to bond. You know, I pray for you every day, that you will continue to be strong in your faith as you walk through life with God. It’s my greatest wish.”

I blink. “Uh… thanks, Mum.”

So, if her greatest wish is for me to continue to be strong in my faith as I walk through life with God… I apologise in advance, Mum. I might as well be continuing to be strong in your faith.

It’s not that I don’t believe in God, or a single higher power, though. It’s the forcing of religion and Bible verses. It’s the dragging to go to church and the continuous talks about God and sin. It’s the constant assumptions that I share the exact same beliefs as her and the disappointment I would face if I was to be truthful.

“So, for our bonding time, I found a podcast that I hope will educate you about God’s plan for the relationships we have in life,” she tells me and I feel like a bomb has just been dropped onto a big red button inside my mind, and soon, it’s going to send me into hysterics. A small talk about God is okay, but a whole podcast?! Give me fucking break!

“Um, okay… sure,” I stammer as she turns on her phone.

“It’s by one of my favourite preachers,” she comments and I just smile and nod as she turns on the podcast. “I love all his sermons.”

I don’t get to see the title.

The podcast starts off with the audience clapping and then it dies down as the man commences his speaking. I might as well have my emotional funeral right here and now. 

“I don’t know how many people here are in a relationship right now but today, we’re going to be discussing one of the types of relationships we all know God absolutely does not tolerate… homosexual relationships,” the preacher begins and I want to cover my ears and bury myself in a hole. He continues, “In order to stay strong in our faith with this topic, we must understand that the non-holy people are pushing to make homosexuality the norm. They are forcing it on us through books, movies, clothing, you name it…”

As I slowly chew on the spaghetti, frustrated and angry thoughts are running around my head, pulling my attention away from the podcast. The ‘holy’ people say that the homosexuals are forcing themselves and their sexuality on them, but then they force their beliefs on other people? Something’s not adding up here.

I feel like my brain is about to metaphorically split open from the amount of exasperation that’s bubbling up in my mind. It’s going to burst soon, I can feel it.

I can’t listen.

I can’t listen anymore.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” I speak up suddenly, my voice harsh and firm. “I can’t listen to this.”

If the look of shock on her face is not enough for both of us, I, too, am incredibly surprised at myself for finally having the courage to stand up for myself. Just ten minutes ago, I was sitting in my room, doubting my ability to stand my ground and now I was actually doing it! I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I was just a little bit proud.

Mum looks at me strangely before turning off the podcast. “Sorry, do you need to be somewhere?”

I sigh indignantly. “No, I don’t. I just can’t listen to that podcast.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “What do you mean you can’t? It’s an educational one.”

I lean back in my chair and give her an annoyed look that I hope clearly reads ‘I AM SICK OF THIS BULLSHIT’. And it seems like she gets the memo because she inhales deeply and frowns back.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been influenced,” she commands, her face turning slightly red.

I shake my head, an unexpected surge of courage overcoming me. “Actually, no, I haven’t. I’ve always supported gay people.”

Her expression is a mixture of anger, disappointment and pain, and it almost looks as if she’s caught me murdering someone or something like that.

“No, no, no,” she mutters under her breath before she says louder, “You know what the Bible says about homosexuality.”

I shrug and try to act as nonchalant as possible. We don’t need two boiling heads in the same room without a mediator.

“I don’t believe in it,” I tell her.

Her face suddenly contorts into a sorrowful bearing and her voice softens, “You know, you can’t pick and choose what you believe from the Bible. You either believe everything it says or you don’t believe anything at all.”

I want to roll my eyes at her but for her sake and her sake only, I keep my annoyance to myself.

“I believe what I believe, Mum, and I’m sorry if I’m a disappointment to you,” I explain, feeling a twinge of guilt because of how crestfallen she looks. “I’m sorry that I don’t agree with you.”

She pauses momentarily and crosses her arms over her chest before speaking, “It’s fine. Just finish your food and go and do your homework… I’ll be praying for you.”

Of course, I can tell she’s sugar-coating her words because her tone is quite blatantly passive-aggressive. I want to tell her not to pray for me because I know she’s going to pray that I change my mind, but the gut-wrenching at the bottom of my stomach tells me not to. It doesn’t want me to engage in another argument.

Instead, I nod and keep my head down for the rest of dinner.


	2. A Laddy Lad Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Harry go to a café and a cinema.

After about fifteen minutes of persistent persuasion, my parents finally allow me to go to the cinema with Harry on Thursday evening. I tell them that we’re going to see Easy A, one of the new comedies this year, starring Emma Stone, but they’ll never have to know what we’re actually watching. I suspect they only give in because of how annoyingly tenacious I’m being.

Harry tells me that he’ll pick me up around 7 pm so we can get dinner first before the movie begins. And luckily, he’s driving, or else we would have to trudge along the damp path, through the night, when we could quite possibly get abducted. Though I have my license, my parents only allow me to drive their car when it is absolutely necessary. Harry’s parents are much more lenient. (Plus, I’ll never admit it aloud to anyone, but I am most certainly not the safest driver). 

As I put my arms through the sleeves of my jacket, I chuckle to myself, realising that my clothes are much more presentable when I’m casually hanging out with Harry, than when I’m going to church. I don’t usually dress to impress but today, something in the back of my brain tells me I should. We’re definitely not going on a date, no, nuh uh.

Harry texts me at 6:59 pm that he’s arrived and that momentarily annoys me because he should’ve arrived at 7, not 6:59! But I suppose it’s preferable that he’s early rather than late.

I hop down the stairs, quickly say goodbye to my parents and decamp the house before they can get a word in. I spot Harry leaning against his car, scrolling through something on his phone. He’s dressed in some nice pants and a coat, and his dark curls hang by his face perfectly. Before he grew his hair out, a long-haired Harry was something that I never knew I needed in life.

He looks up when he hears the door close, his bright green eyes bearing into mine. I return the grin.

“Evening, Lou,” he greets me, his perfect white teeth on display as he smiles at me. And I know I shouldn’t be jealous of teeth but I’m pretty fucking jealous of his teeth.

“Hey, Haz,” I reply softly as he steps away from the car.

I really can’t help but feel like I’m going on a date as he opens the passenger door for me with a mocking ‘ladies first’, but I know it’s not a date. We’re just two lads doing platonic laddy things like going out for dinner and to the cinema together… alone… like normal, average lads… 

I slip into the seat and he closes the door before hopping around to the other side. He starts the car and we’re off.

“So, where are we going?” I ask, hoping that my innocent tone doesn’t make me sound like I’m trying to get him to spoil a surprise.

“To dinner,” he says simply and I groan audibly to let him know that I want a real answer. “Okay, fine. If you really want to know, we’re also going to a cinema afterwards.”

I roll my eyes and give him a look, even though his eyes are trained on the road.

“Amazing. I never would have guessed,” I say sarcastically, expecting him to say something further but he just hums and doesn’t show any effort to talk more. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

He shakes his head. “No, ‘cause the dictionary definition of a surprise is an unexpected event. If I tell you, you’re going to expect it and it’s not going to be a surprise anymore, will it?”

I scowl. “You’re the worst.”

His eyebrows rise up. “Hey, if you want to know things, then you can plan our next night out!”

My heart stops pounding for a second or three as a swell of happiness washes over me. Though we’ve gone out at night (or late afternoon, more like, because of my ridiculously early curfew) many times before, it’s oddly reassuring to hear him say that he wants us to go out more. It kind of makes me feel special.

But then again, I panic because I’m far too broke to be able to afford a night out plus dinner for two. I’m not expecting Harry to take me to a fancy, expensive restaurant because he’s also a teenager on a strict budget. In fact, I’d honestly be happy and thoroughly content if his surprise was McDonald’s.

It’s not a common occurrence for me to stop by McDonald’s and buy a burger or something of that sort because Mum’s a bit of a health nut when it comes to that stuff. That probably explains why I’ve only had the chance to try, like, a maximum of two things from their menu (a plain cheeseburger and fries). Now that I think about it, McDonald’s wouldn’t be a half-bad place to take a person like me for a date because then I’d have an adventure trying other things from their menu. Maybe Niall could take me on a date there, huh.

Harry pulls up in front of a place that looks like a café, but I assume it’s one of those cafés that serve meals as well as coffee. Harry has exceeded my expectations by far (not that I should’ve had any to begin with).

“We’re here,” he tells me as he gets out of the car.

I follow suit and we walk to the entrance of the little building. While Harry talks to one of the waitresses, I glance around the place, seeing a few couples and families scattered around. I already know I’m going to have a good time here - the atmosphere is extremely laid-back and cosy.

The waitress leads us towards our table, which is right in the far corner, beside a window and a tall pot plant (it’s taller than me but no one needs to know that). I take the seat against the wall and Harry sits opposite me in the chair while the waitress gives us our menus. She leaves, telling us that she’ll be back soon to take our orders.

“Surprise enough?” Harry asks as I open my menu and look up at him. He’s looking straight into my eyes with his green, piercing ones.

“You know, I would’ve been happy if we had dinner in a school cafeteria, but this,” I tell him, “this has exceeded my non-existent expectations by far.”

The joyful smile that erupts on his face warms my little heart and I’m extremely happy to see him proud of himself. He deserves the feeling, anyway, since he’s put in all this effort for me.

“I’m glad you like it,” he grins, looking down at his menu. “So, what’s caught your eye?”

I’m not sure whether I should be money-conscious or not so I decide that I’m going to be partially money-conscious - conscious enough that I get something of reasonable price, but doesn’t look like I’m trying to save money. Ugh, sometimes I worry way too much.

“Maybe I might get the carbonara,” I tell him. “You?”

“I’m craving ravioli,” he replies and I should’ve already guessed because Harry has a very soft spot for that dish. He adds, “As usual.”

Sometimes, I get a gush of pride because I have the honour of being the best mate of someone like Harry. Harry’s the type of person that all the girls and some guys have a crush on and the type of person that everyone wants to be friends with, but he chose me. He chose me to be his best mate and I’m the one who gets to know most things, if not everything, about him. If that’s not an achievement, I don’t know what is.

Harry must’ve spotted me intently staring at nothing because he’s looking at me with his head tilted to the side in curiosity. He turns to glance behind him before looking back at me. “Something interesting about the couple behind me?”

I quickly shake myself out of my trance and blink, focusing my attention back on Harry. I ask, “What?”

“Is there something interesting about the couple behind me,” he repeats, his gaze questioning.

I kick myself for getting distracted and falling into a daydream so easily because I’m supposed to be paying attention to Harry on this da- no, dinner with him. And because I’m such a fucking loser, I decide to lie to him for no reason at all. “Uh, yeah… the lady has, um, really nice hair.”

I shoot him an obviously fake smile that he totally doesn’t buy because it doesn’t reach my eyes. He raises his eyebrows. “You’re bad at that, you know?”

“Bad at what?”

“Lying,” he elaborates, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms as he smirks at me.

I feel my cheeks heat up as I’m caught in the act and wonder why on earth I’m such a dumb idiot who just can’t tell the truth in any given situation. There was absolutely no need for me to lie just then and now Harry probably thinks I’m some sort of tongue-tied liar who he can’t trust (even though he’s known me for almost over a decade).

So, I decided to lie even more. “What do you mean? I’d kill for that haircut!”

No. No, I really wouldn’t. The lady whose hair I supposedly covet has some sort of a mix between a mullet and a bob, which I didn’t even know was possible until now. It’s mostly brown with some messily-applied blonde streaks here and there. I’m not usually one to hairstyle-shame but I don’t want to know what the fuck was even going on in her brain when she decided to get a hairstyle that atrocious.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d rather have a mohawk mixed with a mullet and the rest of your hair shaved off than that.”

Damn, he knows me too well.

I grin. “You know I’d rather have your luscious curls than either of them.”

Harry sticks out his tongue cheekily. “Ha, you wish.”

The waitress comes back to our table and politely asks if we’ve decided on what we want to order. We nod and she takes our order, Harry ordering an extra two lemonades for both of us. With that, she’s off and we’re left to ourselves again.

“Alright, hit me with your best joke,” Harry suddenly tells me as he taps his fingers on the table (thank god his fingernails are short because I swear I will do a table flip trickshot if I hear the repetitive sound of his fingernails hitting the wood).

I know what Harry’s doing because he does this all the time - first, he asks me to tell him a joke and then, he says it’s his turn to say a joke and it’s all just an excuse for him to show off some of his incredibly awful jokes that are only funny because he laughs at himself. I take that back; all of his jokes are incredibly awful.

But I go along with it anyway because I’m a nice friend. “Why shouldn’t you trust trees?”

“Because they’re shady, yeah, yeah, I already knew that one,” Harry replies quickly and I roll my eyes while he hastily continues, “I guess it’s my turn now. What do you get when you’re cussing while singing in opera and your mum catches you?”

God, help me. I can already sense that this is a bad one.

“What?”

“A soap opera!” he exclaims before bursting out into laughter, his eyes squeezed shut and his body shaking. I can only stare at him and try to suppress my own giggles. Why the fuck is he like this? “Get it? Because your mum puts soap in your mouth when you swear and you’re singing opera, so it’s a soap opera?”

As much as I want to watch Harry’s delighted face and crinkled eyes as long as possible, I show how unimpressed with that joke I am with a facepalm. “The fact that you had to add an explanation after makes it a horrible, horrible joke.”

I shake my head fondly as he continues laughing. “At least my joke wasn’t as predictable as yours. I mean, come on, Lou. If we’re going to have a joke battle, you’re going to have to do better than that!”

I frown and scrunch my face up. “Who says we’re having a bloody joke battle! I can only stand listening to your terrible jokes, that you probably got off the internet, for so long!”

Harry feigns taking offence to that. “Excuse me! I come up with all my jokes myself, thank you very much!”

“You’re welcome,” I snigger in reply and he shoots me a glare.

“You know what you are?” he demands, raising an eyebrow. “Insufferable. That’s what you are and I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

My mouth drops open and I slowly place a hand over my heart. “B-But… don’t you love me?”

He exhales loudly and fakes a sad expression. “I’m sorry for lying to you but I really am on the other end of the love-hate spectrum…”

I stifle a laugh as he looks at me like he’s going through a heartbreak. I find it quite refreshing, actually, to have a best mate like Harry who’s always up for a laugh and can take a joke. I can be myself around him without being judged and I can pretend to hate him and he won’t take it too seriously because he knows I don’t. I wouldn’t be able to do that with some people, cough, Nick, cough (not that he would even think to take me out for dinner anyway).

“We’re mortal enemies now, aren’t we?” I question, wiggling my eyebrows up and down cheekily.

“We absolutely despise each other. I absolutely can’t stand even just the mere thought of you,” Harry says.

I look up as the waitress returns with both our dishes balanced on one arm and a tray holding both our lemonades in the other. While I’m sort of impressed at her ability to balance so many things on her arms at once, I’m also a little curious as to why the drinks didn’t come first. I push that thought aside because it doesn’t really matter at all and thank the waitress politely before indulging in the carbonara. 

I watch as Harry’s eyes widen when he takes the first bite of his food and I pray so hard that he doesn’t start moaning extremely obnoxiously because the last time he did that, it was with the sole purpose to embarrass me and people ended up staring at us like we were a pair of aliens from the planet of Non-Existent Etiquette. I have to admit, though, he was pretty good at knowing exactly how to embarrass me (not that I would ever tell him that).

“Good?” I ask and he nods profusely.

“Very,” he replies when he swallows. Then, he stabs another piece with his fork and holds it out to me. “Want some?”

I’d be lying if I say my chest doesn’t swell up because I know how much Harry hates to share his food, especially his prized ravioli. The fact that he’s offering food to me is pretty significant if I can say so myself.

I accept the offer wordlessly and pinch the piece off from his fork. He’s right. It is extremely delicious. I reciprocate the action and offer him some of my carbonara, which he gladly accepts too.

“Did you know that ravioli was first heard of in the 14th century?” he asks and I shake my head.

“I didn’t and I don’t know why you know that,” I respond, taking a sip of my lemonade.

“This brain,” he tells me, tapping the side of his head. “Contains a lot of useless information.”

I snort. “Don’t I already know it.”

“Lots of useless information,” he repeats, gazing at me more intently and suggestively as if he’s trying to make a point.

“Styles, I don’t know what sort of innuendo you’re trying to make here but not while we’re having dinner,” I tell him with a shake of my head.

“You love it,” he jokes and I don’t like it. I really don’t. I really, really don’t… I do.

It’s 7:45 when we both finish eating and the waitress approaches our table after Harry’s finished telling another awful joke that I definitely did not give him permission to say. Though the jokes his brain somehow manages to come up with are absolute trash and not funny in the slightest, I have never really taken the time to appreciate how enjoyable it is to have dinner with Harry. It’s completely laid back, chill and filled with us going on about useless shit that involves way too many inside jokes that only we understand. It’s kind of special, really, so I proclaim it as the highlight of my entire week.

The waitress asks us if we’d like to order desserts now but Harry and I had already previously discussed that if we ordered desserts, we’d be too full to even think about purchasing popcorn and then halfway through the movie, we’d realise that we’re actually starving and regret everything. So we politely decline and she tells us that she will be back with the bill.

So far, I have convinced myself that this is just a laddy bro night out so Harry is not obligated to pay for the both of us since he organised the whole thing. But just as I begin to pull out my wallet, I feel a hand rest on my wrist and it sends shivers up my spine (which it shouldn’t because Harry and I touch all the time… no, not like that! Get your dirty mind out of the fucking gutter!). I look up to see Harry giving me a look and holding up his own card.

“Not today,” he tells me and I’m forced to give in with a huff. Of course, he has to be a perfect gentleman. “You can pay next time.”

There it is again. He can’t just go inviting me on another lads night out and expect me not to grow warm inside and feel extremely special! With that being said, I don’t have a crush on Harry.

“Whatever,” I grumble, rolling my eyes as the cheque book is placed on the table.

I don’t even want to know why Harry has so much cash on him when it’s ten thousand times easier to just use a card, but somehow he does and he places it in the book. After that, we stand up, smile in thanks at the waitress and head out towards the car.

It’s dark out and I solely because of that, I feel like I’m in a movie. I hope to imagine it’s a movie in which Harry and I just had a really romantic date and are now exiting the restaurant into our happily ever after where we kiss in the dark of the night and such, but if I hold a reference to my previous dreams… it’s more like we had a really romantic date and are now exiting the restaurant into our inevitable doom where we’re kidnapped by a gang of psychopaths in the dark of the night. I don’t know why I think this way but I just do and I hate it.

However, it does also seem like an appropriate setting for a Harry Potter book so I try to imagine from that perspective.

“We have to go into Harry Potter mode now,” I quip as we near the car.

Harry pauses and turns to look at me strangely before a wave of realisation overcomes him and he nods hastily. His eyes find the ground, searching for something and before I can say lumos, Harry is holding a flimsy stick in his hand and pointing it at the car.

“Alohomora,” he demands, doing a weird action with his makeshift ‘wand’. He’s staring intently at the car door with his forehead creased and fire in his eyes as if his facial expression would somehow scare the car door into unlocking for him. When the car makes no signs of unlocking for him, he turns back to me with his shoulders slumped and a defeated look on his face. “It’s not working, Lou. I guess I’m just a plain, old muggle after all.”

I stifle a laugh behind my hand (because he’s such a fucking crackhead) before regaining my composure and giving him a pointed look. “Hey, how dare you insult muggles like that!”

“Oh, of course, you’d say that,” he rolls his eyes and snaps the stick he’s holding in half before dropping it on the ground. “You’re the type of person who’d parade around Hogwarts wearing a shirt that reads Muggles Are Cool.”

I shrug and grin triumphantly. “Why wouldn’t I. We created stuff without the use of magic so that already makes us ten times smarter.”

“You’re insulting my name-twin. I’m sure there weren’t any wizards called Louis because of how disgraceful your words are,” he tells me as he fetches his car keys. He points his keys at his car and presses the unlock button, saying, “Alohomora.”

I open the door and sit my arse on the passenger’s seat. “Actually, there is a Louis and he’s a Weasley. Bill and Fleur’s son.”

“But yet, he didn’t get any screen time,” Harry looks at me with a slightly victorious expression like he always does when he knows one-upping me. “539 minutes and 15 seconds to 0.”

I swat his arm and grumble, “You’re such a know-it-all. No wonder nobody likes you.”

Harry just laughs irreverently at me and starts the car, reversing out of our former space in the carpark of the café and driving onto the main street. We make light conversation about which scenes in the movie we’re looking forward to the most based on the scenes in the book (which I had ever so sneakily read without my parents catching me). 

Soon enough, we arrive at the cinema and I glance at the time on the dashboard. It’s 8:15. We’re so early. So, we decide to just sit in the car and talk some more, which I’m perfectly fine with because I love talking to Harry.

“Who’s your favourite character?” I ask him as I play with the hem of my jacket.

“My name-twin, Harry,” he replies predictably and I scoff.

“What a generic answer,” I tell him in a taunting tone. “Well, I suppose I’ll also have to go for my name-twin, Louis Weasley, even though I literally have no idea who he is. I think he’s part veela.”

“Apparently veelas are supposed to be incredibly beautiful women, or in Louis’ case, an incredibly beautiful man,” Harry muses and strangely enough, I find myself thinking that it’s quite odd to hear Harry describe another Louis as beautiful. It’s a peculiar feeling but since I’m so good at ignoring my thoughts, I shove it to the back of my mind.

“Like me?” I question with a guileful quirk of my eyebrow.

“You and your big head, always fishing for compliments, aren’t you?” he questions with a wry smile, but even with only the dim light of the streetlamp above us, I can still see his cheeks flush pink a little. My breathing hitches in my throat when he adds quietly, “But yeah, like you.”

I have always known that Harry’s a true sap at heart, even though he usually tries to disguise it with a witty comeback or joke. Some of his favourite movies include Love Actually and The Notebook for god’s sake! But it’s still a little unusual to hear sappy, heartfelt words come out of his mouth, especially when they’re directed to me; he usually saves them for his mum or a girlfriend.

In this instance, I can’t tell if he’s telling the truth or if he’s just saying that to appease my curiosity. Of course, I would be extremely honoured and overjoyed if his words were honest but sometimes I second guess myself. I guess I’ll never know.

I look up at him but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking straight ahead at the road in front of us and I can see the reflection of car headlights flashing past in his deep, green orbs. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that his eyes are beautiful but it’s still surprising to me how easy it is for me to fall into a daydream just by looking into them. However, I remind myself to quickly snap out of my trance and completely disregard it. He’s my best mate, not a teenage heartthrob who I have a massive, lovesick crush on.

“Which house do you think you’d be in?” he suddenly asks me, breaking the silence and changing the subject entirely.

“I really want to say Gryffindor,” I reply, turning my whole body to face him and laying the side of my head on the back of the seat. “So, I’m going to say Gryffindor. You’d be in Hufflepuff.”

He looks at me with a smug grin. “I know, I’m really nice.”

I roll my eyes, albeit fondly. “Look who’s getting a big head now.”

“Whatever, you love me,” he tells me as his smile grows wider and I poke his dimple.

“You wish,” I scoff. “You know, if you were at Hogwarts, everyone would be pointing their wands at you and saying silencio.”

“But everyone would also be smuggling in love potions and spiking my butterbeer with them,” he adds and I roll my eyes at his antics.

“Certainly not me,” I mutter and he flashes me another cheeky grin.

“You wouldn’t need to,” he states and before I even have time to process those words, Harry’s sitting up straighter and telling me that we should head towards the cinema before the line for food gets too long and we’re late to the movie.

I find myself subconsciously doing what he says with my legs moving by themselves to catch up with his long strides, my eyebrows furrowed and my brain completely frozen and dumbstruck. What does he mean, I wouldn’t need to give him a love potion? Is that some sort of confession or just plainly a joking comeback? My brain is going into overload pondering over it and I should probably stop thinking so hard… I’m not usually one to jump straight to conclusions but what the fuck does he mean?

I trail along behind Harry, wordlessly, like a lost puppy as he goes through all the administrative stuff like getting the best two seats in the middle back row and buying two buckets of popcorn - one for each of us. My mind is still in a daze and I don’t even know how much I’ll be able to pay attention to the movie anymore. Ugh, it’s all Harry’s fault for being so damn cryptic. Yep, I’m blaming him for this one.

It looks like the cinema has designed popcorn buckets especially for the release of the Harry Potter movie because when Harry hands me my bucket, it has a photo of Harry Potter’s face in the middle of it as well as the other supporting characters printed smaller around him. There’s even a crossword (the crossword is lame, in my opinion, because there are only five words to find) and a maze (which is also lame because I can already figure it out in one glance), plus a QR code that apparently goes to some sort of Harry Potter giveaway website.

“Hey, you okay there?” Harry nudges my shoulder softly and I look up at him in surprise.

“Hm? Yeah, of course. I’m just wondering if I should enter this giveaway,” I inform him, motioning towards the QR code on the bucket.

“You’d rock a pair of Harry Potter glasses,” he tells me with a wink.

“I wish to avada kedavra you right now,” I huff, crossing my arms as a bunch of images with me wearing circular-framed glasses swarm my mind. I shoo them away.

We make our way towards cinema five, where the movie is being played and arrive at our amazing seats, which are smack bang in the middle of the back row. I sit down and immediately start munching happily on my popcorn. I feel like Niall.

Harry leans over slightly and speaks in a low voice, “Do you think there’ll be annoying people here?”

My mind flashbacks to last year when Harry, Niall and I had gone to watch Hannah Montana: The Movie in the cinema for no reason at all, but an old couple in front of us had chastised us for watching it, saying that it was too ‘gay’ for a group of teenage boys. It was quite an amusing incident since we were getting told off by a man and a woman who were in their sixties and had also opted to see the same ‘gay’ movie, and Niall had called them many derogatory names in Irish slang. The man had eventually resorted to being immature and had thrown a piece of popcorn at Harry, who actually managed to catch it in his mouth, and told us to grow up. Huh, ironic coming from his mouth.

My eyes glance around the dark room and are instantly drawn to a middle-aged lady and, who I assume to be, her son, who are sitting right in front of us. I suppose I was too wrapped up in my thoughts before to notice them but now that I’ve set my gaze upon them, it’s hard to ignore.

They’re making quite a bit of noise as the little boy is complaining to the lady about how she didn’t buy him enough lollies while simultaneously crumpling his bag of chips obnoxiously. The lady is giving her son a harsh stare and sternly reprimanding him for being greedy and ungrateful. I have to acknowledge the fact that it’s quite amusing to watch.

“Them,” I say, pointing towards the two of them as the son does a hilarious imitation of his mother, with a granny-like voice that is really far off.

“Harry, if you don’t shut your mouth in five seconds, I swear I will pour all of your Fanta over your head,” the lady threatens in a strict voice, holding up her five fingers, presumably to start her countdown.

My eyes widen and I turn to Harry, who has already burst out into a fit of laughter. I follow suit and grip onto his arm, leaning my head on his shoulder as we laugh our heads off. What a fucking coincidence!

I sit up straight in my seat as I regain my composure, a giggle slipping out of my mouth and I look over to Harry to see that he’s wearing his serious face. I might as well flee the country before he does something extremely embarrassing. I’m waiting for it…

“No, stop! I’m going to get wet!” he exclaims really loudly but his face is still stoic and calm.

I facepalm. It’s enough to make a good few people around us stare at him in confusion and the girl who’s sitting next to him starts stifling a laugh behind her hand. The lady in front of us looks up at Harry in disgust before shaking her head and looking away. Luckily, she seems to completely forget that she’s in the middle of an argument with her son, who’s now slurping away at his drink.

“Did the job,” Harry says, winking, the side of his mouth tilting upwards and I can’t help but mirror that smile. 

Who is this kid?

***

“So what I’ve learnt from the movie is that you can’t trust anyone because you never know how many faces someone has. Bathilda Bagshot turned out to be Nagini so who knows. You could be a dinosaur in disguise!” Harry tells me as we’re walking towards the exit of the cinema, waving his hands around in the air as he’s vocalising his thought, but he looks like he’s walking through a cloud of invisible smoke and trying to get it out of his face.

“A dinosaur?” I roll my eyes and raise an eyebrow. “Grow up, Harry. Imagine me as something cooler, like a dolphin or something.”

“That’s true,” he shrugs. “Your second face would probably be something the complete opposite of you and dolphins are really nice and friendly, so that works out perfectly.”

I shoot him a glare and immediately jump on him, grabbing his neck in a headlock. “Hey! I’m extremely friendly!”

“Your actions say otherwise,” he responds, his words jagged as he struggles to escape my grip. I tackle him another few seconds before releasing him and messing up his hair for a little more sweet revenge. We arrive at the exit and he opens the door for me, continuing. “Anyway, as I was saying, I think the writer’s intention was to make us, the audience, become more aware of stranger-danger because you never know if someone you meet is secretly a murderer.”

“That’s morbid,” I comment, a shiver running up my spine at the thought of one of my best mates actually being a murderer. “But enough of this movie analysis shiz. Do it in your own time.”

Harry scrunches up his nose. “You sound like a teacher.”

“You’re the one who’s lecturing me about whatever analysis you inferred from the movie!” I exclaim in defence. I’m quite surprised at the amount of energy I have, considering it’s around 11 pm and it’s been a long day. Usually, when my parents are around, I’d be asleep at this time… or actually, pretending to be asleep while I’m actually on my phone under the covers.

“Whatever.” Harry rolls his eyes as we approach the car. We take our respective places and he starts the engine before looking over at me. “You love muggles, don’t you?”

I shrug. “I guess so.”

“Well, if you were a teacher at Hogwarts, you’d be teaching muggle studies,” he tells me and a mischievous glint appears in his eyes (makes sense because green is Slytherin). “Remember what happened to the muggle studies teacher in the movie?”

Yes, I remember it clearly. Charity Burbage, the muggle studies teacher, being murdered by Voldemort and then being devoured by Nagini, Voldemort’s loyal snake accomplice. What a horrific scene.

“And yet, I recall you accusing me of being two-faced merely a minute ago and here you are, anticipating me being killed and devoured by a snake,” I mutter and Harry chuckles.

“Yeah, but the difference is that you wouldn’t end up being killed because I’d save you first.”

Maybe it’s because Harry’s not talking anymore but I can practically hear my heart speeding up and beating increasingly louder at his words. Those 4 words could tumble out of his mouth like normal, everyday speech, but they mean everything to me - probably more than a whole essay about my good qualities, honestly (not that a whole essay about my good qualities would even be possible). Those 4 words are enough to get me wrapped tightly around Harry’s finger (both figuratively and literally. Get your mind out of the fucking gutter!).

“You would?” I question apprehensively and I try not to stare at him too much in case I seem suspicious.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him nod and his nod looks confident, which reassures me a little. “Course, I would. I’d disguise myself as Nagini, sneak into the death eater meeting and whisk you away to safety before Voldemort can even think to point his wand at you.”

Before now, I didn’t even think it was possible to be so sweet while simultaneously describing an intensely macabre scene.

“That’s terrifyingly lovely of you to say,” I muse, my lips curving into a smile subconsciously and I turn to look at him. “I’d do the same for you.”

Again, I take the shortest of seconds to admire Harry before quickly turning away so he doesn’t think I’m being creepy and scrutinising him. It’s not like I’ve never noticed exactly how attractive he is but I’m looking at him in a different light now - the light of the moon as well as the light of him being sentimental and sweet.

He’s got a sharp, cutting jawline that stands out even when his face is fully relaxed and it’s unfair that he’s not trying at all. His long curls are luscious (and I’d love to run my hands through them one day) as well as his eyelashes, which are thick and flutter against his cheeks when he blinks. His bright, green eyes are shining in the dark of the night and I can still see a glimmer of energy and excitement, even though he’s probably a little tired by now.

As someone who has known Harry for almost a decade, I feel like I am worthy of declaring that whoever gets to spend the rest of their life with him is insanely lucky and has essentially won at life. I, by then, will be demoted to the status of a lonesome peasant, forever wallowing in a field of self-pity because I will only be Harry’s past best mate. I’m not sure if it’s extremely possessive for me to think that way but I honest to God, wouldn’t be able to survive if Harry was taken away from me, and that’s a confession.

Who am I kidding, anyway? It’s not like I’ll ever have the chance, let alone, the courage, to come out to anyone at all, even Harry. Harry is one of the most open-minded, accepting and big-hearted people I know but still, I know I’d never be able to force those words out of my mouth. I also know that Harry is straight because he’s had a girlfriend in the past and has even told me himself. I could probably list a million more reasons why I’d never have a chance with Harry, with some of them being because I’m way out of his league and because it would most likely jeopardise our friendship.

Plus, not that I ever imagine being in a relationship with him (wink), but there are about a million barriers in my life that would stop me from openly dating him… or any boy, for that matter. Firstly, my parents would whole-heartedly disapprove, with their conservative beliefs and all that. Secondly, I’d estimate that around seventy percent of my friends, relatives and acquaintances are religious, so that’s not a very ideal community for a young, gay boy like me to be stuck in. Thirdly, dating a boy would also encompass me coming out to everyone… yeah, not going to happen… 

Besides, I don’t have a fucking crush on him, okay? Tell me to keep telling myself that.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Harry comments suddenly and I nearly jump out of my skin at the abruptness but I don’t because otherwise my head would hit the roof and I’d probably end up with a concussion and in a coma with severe brain damage. “What’s up?”

I shrug, even though his eyes are trained on the road and he’s not looking at me. “Just thinking about life, the future and such.”

I thank my mouth for not deciding to completely lie.

“What about it?”

“The future, you know… sometimes I wonder where I’ll be in five to ten years, if I’m going to be successful or end up a peasant,” I whisper the last part to myself but Harry hears it and lets out a chuckle.

“I’m sure you won’t end up a peasant, Lou,” he reassures me, his tone light. “You’ve got dreams to be successful but they aren’t unreasonable dreams. Like, you’re not aspiring to discover another galaxy and inhabit it with your hybrid cat-monkey pet, so I’m pretty positive that you’re going to do well.”

“Thanks, H,” I thank him, my voice dropping a bit in volume to suit the more mellow conversation. “Where do you think you’ll be in five years?”

He shrugs. “Not sure, to be honest. Hopefully done with uni and with a stable job… away from here.”

“Away from here?” I repeat in question.

He nods meekly and grimaces. “Things are, uh, not too great around my house.”

I raise my eyebrows. Now, I know quite a lot about Harry and I know he doesn’t really like to mention his family often, with the exception of his sister, Gemma. So, this is new information.

“Want to talk about it?” I offer, deciding that it would be nice of me to provide an outlet for Harry to rant into.

He purses his lips and frowns as he slows down at a red light, leaning back with an almost-melancholy expression. Alright, now I want to know what’s up.

“They’ve been fighting, my parents,” he begins and I have the feeling this is going to be a long, emotional one so I prepare myself to be sympathetic and a supportive advice-giver. “It started a few months ago but now, they're constantly at each other's throats and it seems like they’re screaming 24/7. It’s really hard to, you know, study and I quite dislike it. Gem’s not around here often anymore, but when she does come, she hates it too.”

The light turns green and he accelerates again, and all I can do is sit there, not and have a sympathetic expression on my face.

He continues, “Most of the time, they’re arguing about nothing, like Dad yells at Mum for not buying a new loaf of bread fast enough and she yells at him for opening a door too loudly. Mum’s started drinking frequently and she always leaves bottles around everywhere, which angers Dad even more and Dad’s started constantly staying out late at night for ‘work’ but I don’t think it’s actually work.”

He sighs in frustration and sadness, and I feel an ache in my heart for him. I shouldn’t complain about my situation when he’s going through worse.

“I’m so sorry, Haz, I-I wish I could help you,” I try to console him but in truth, I really don’t know what to say. “I wish I could, but you know I’m always here for you if you need someone to listen and/or give you advice.”

He nods but he still wears a pained expression and I hate it. I wish I could wipe it off his face and replace it with a smile that lights up his eyes and makes his face glow.

“Thanks, Lou,” he says, sincerely. “I do appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I do… just one question,” I say hesitantly because I don’t know whether it’s good to ask questions while someone is talking about their problems. I look over to him for confirmation as to whether I can ask and he gives a tight nod so I continue, “Your mum… she doesn’t hurt you, you know, when she’s drunk…?”

I almost heave a sigh of relief when he shakes his head.

“She doesn’t,” he answers, every bit of joy and excitement in his voice washed away. “She just becomes angrier and screams more, which is okay, I guess…”

I shake my head. “It’s not, I don’t think. You shouldn’t have to live like that.”

“I know, but we’ve only got less than half a year left so I’ll be away from there soon enough.” He sighs again as we roll up in front of my house. He turns to look at me and I can tell that his gaze is distracted. “Don’t worry about me, though. I’ll make it out alive.”

That’s… that’s not reassuring in the slightest. Alive could mean safe and healthy but it could also mean scarred and corrupted, with only a little air left to breathe. I pray it’s not the latter.

“You will,” I say quietly, trying to make my voice sound confident but it still wavers a little. “You always do.”

He gives me a small smile that is nowhere near close to reaching his sorrow-filled eyes and I miss his actual smile - the smile when he’s actually happy and he smiles so wide that his eyes light up and crinkle in the corners.

He nods at me before gesturing for me to get out of the car and he does so as well, following me up to the porch. I watch him intently as he stands opposite me and his eyes flicker all over my face like he’s studying me and using that as an excuse while he’s figuring out what to say. When his eyes finally meet mine, I feel like he’s staring into my soul.

It’s quite an intimate moment and while I have been suppressing my feelings for what seems like forever now, I can’t help but want him to kiss me. I’m totally not prepared for it and I’m definitely not ready for what happens after but I still want it. Yeah, I guess I’m just going to have to stay in denial for quite a while longer because Harry’s is straight so he’d never do that.

I’m still staring up into his dark, green orbs and my neck is beginning to hurt because I wasn’t blessed with tall genes (or average-height genes, for that matter).

“Thanks, Lou,” he says suddenly, breaking me out of my peaceful trance of admiring him. He looks away from me, almost as if he’s bashful. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight and thanks for listening to my problems… It really means a lot.”

His eyes refocus back on mine and I give him a tight but nonetheless, genuine, smile in return. “Anytime, love, anytime at all.”

He’s now got a grateful expression on his face and I’m just glad he doesn’t look so sad and in pain anymore. He opens his arms up for a hug and I willingly step into his embrace, wrapping my arms around him and resting my head in the space between his neck and shoulder. He smells nice like the usual cologne he wears, but there’s also a hint of the popcorn from the cinema there. I decide that I like the feeling of being in his arms. It’s quite a comfortable position, actually. One that I’d like to be in for a few more hours at least.

The hug ends far too quickly than I’d have liked it to but Harry makes up for it by letting his hand slide down to cup my jaw and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. It’s not uncommon for him to do that but every time, it makes my heart leap and leaves me grinning like a mad man, with a tingling sensation on the place his lips were. It’s sweet.

“I love you a lot, okay?” he says, his voice extremely low and quiet, and I’m telling you, I could probably start crying right now and melt into a puddle of my own tears. He’s still staring into my eyes and that’s enough for me to truly believe that he’s being genuine and not just saying he loves me for the sake of it.

“I love you too,” I whisper back, a small smile playing on my lips and I can feel my eyes lighting up (probably enough to give me night vision). “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He nods in confirmation. “Of course. Sweet dreams, Lou, and we’ll do this again soon, okay?”

I nod in response and before I know it, he’s walking away from me and I’m stepping into my house. I shut the door behind me quietly and watch Harry through the narrow window as he gets into his car and drives off. Then, I lean back on the door and sigh, closing my eyes.

This guy has been my best mate for almost a decade now and I still have yet to experience a moment of boredom with him, not that that will come anytime soon. No matter how bad of a day I have, the second he’s by my side, he can immediately sense that somethings wrong and lightens my mood without even trying. When I’m with him, I feel like the huge weight of all my worries and troubles has been lifted off of my shoulder and I can let loose, just being myself. I can’t lie; he has my heart and he doesn’t even know it yet.

I am so lucky.


	3. The Theme Park and the Christian Book Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lads go to the theme park and Louis' mother tells him to buy a book.

“Niall! Do you ever drink anything other than alcohol?!” Liam berates, one of his eyes peering into the stainless steel flask that the blond boy is holding out to him. Even from where I’m standing, the bottle reeks of beer and I can feel the fumes invading my nose and entering my system.

“Oh, lighten up, Payno!” Niall exclaims, his face smug and proud as he takes a large swig of his drink before screwing on the lid tightly.

He sort of reminds me of a little kid who’s trying to convince his dad to allow him to eat candy while his mum’s not watching - in this case, Liam is the dad. It’s ironic, though, because Niall’s not even the ‘rebel, bad boy’ of the group; that title is awarded to Zayn. In fact, to most outsiders, Niall is considered the loveable socialite that everyone wants to be friends with. Within our group, he’s the baby… well, the baby who also happens to get drunk off his ass regularly.

“You’re a smart little lad, aren’t ya? Sneaking in alcohol into the theme park,” Zayn chuckles, reaching up to ruffle Niall’s bleached hair. Niall shrieks, scrunching up his face and ducking from Zayn’s touch, covering his hair with his hand to keep it safe.

For curriculum day, Niall had suggested we go to a theme park because apparently, according to him, he hasn’t been to a theme park in a ‘million years’. I had happily agreed because it’s just another chance for me to get out of the house and spend some time with the lads, and Harry had also agreed, having nothing better to do today. Nick was first in line to agree to come, overjoyed to be going to a theme park again and Liam skipped his basketball training for this because Niall had bribed him, promising to buy him as much food as he wanted. Zayn… Zayn was a little, no, extremely apprehensive at first and it’s a wonder how Niall managed to convince him to come along.

Sometimes I think six is the perfect amount of people to have in a friend group because it’s not so little that there’s a chance you’ll be alone, but it’s also not too large that there’s the possibility of losing track of someone. However, our group is only six when Nick is here. It’s a fact, not an opinion, that most of the people in our group hold the slightest grudge against Nick but he never really seems to notice. The only person who can stand to be around him for an extended period of time is Niall because Niall is that happy-go-lucky, nothing-really-bothers-me kind of guy. Hence, we usually pair him off with Nick whenever we can (that sounds mean but it really is just common sense and is for the best).

“Why did you bring alcohol?” Nick inquires with a slightly disgusted twinge to his tone. He scrunches up his nose and looks at Niall in disapproval.

Niall shrugs, either neglecting to notice the distaste in Nick’s voice or just completely brushing it off. “Because I can. Plus, it’s not even illegal here.”

Nick rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “You’re underage so you shouldn’t be drinking anyway.”

A wide grin breaks out on the Irish boy’s face as he tilts his flask towards Nick. “Want some?”

I stifle a laugh as Nick furrows his eyebrows and flinches away immediately as if Niall’s flask contains some sort of toxic poison that is sure to kill him immediately.

“Ugh! Get that away from me!” he exclaims, waving his hands in front of his face and swatting Niall’s outstretched arm away from him.

I clasp my hands together and roll back and forth on my heels, looking around at the lads expectantly. We are standing right in the middle of the entrance, probably blocking a few people’s paths and getting on their nerves but we (except Nick) are reckless teenagers so we don’t really care.

“So, which ride first?” I question, quirking an eyebrow.

Beside me, I see Harry scratch his head in thought, glancing around at the numerous amount of rides that are available to us. We’re lucky to be able to come here on a day like this when every other school doesn’t have a curriculum day so it’s not too crowded. We’ll get the best seats and experience.

“We should go on all the intense rides first before Niall stuffs his face and ends up throwing up everywhere,” Harry suggests with a sharp tone directed at Niall and everyone shoots the blonde lad a look, reminding him of the last time we came to a theme park and he filled his stomach with mozzarella sticks. Basically, he ended up throwing up all over Nick and Nick, let me tell you, was not at all happy about it. Who would be?

Niall’s cheeks heat up and he complains, “Guys, it was one time!”

“One time too many,” Nick mutters under his breath and I have to agree with him.

Liam speaks up, “Well, Zayn was telling me about how he’s really looking forward to going on the roller-”

“No! I don’t want to!” Zayn barks, glaring daggers at Liam and slapping his arm. Liam bursts out laughing and wraps his arm around Zayn and ruffling his hair.

“It was worth a shot,” Liam says cheekily. “Plus, which ride are you even going to go on if you hate all of them so much?”

“I’ll look after Niall’s beer,” the dark-haired boy replies, gesturing towards Niall’s flask.

Niall’s face lights up. “Oh, that’s a brilliant idea!”

“Not,” Nick grumbles.

Harry clears his throat and nudges me slightly, the light touch enough to send shivers up my spine and give me goosebumps. Gosh, I really need to stop reacting like this.

“Well, while you four argue, Lou and I are going on The Enterprise. C’mon,” he informs them before grabbing my left wrist and dragging me away from the group, towards the large contraption.

When we’re a good distance away from the rest of the lads, Harry lets go of my wrist and I fall into step (or more like a skip because his legs are fucking long) next to him. There is a ride occurring at the moment and I observe with wide eyes as The Enterprise slowly tilts vertical and people start screaming boisterously. I’ve been on this ride before so I shouldn’t be too worried, I suppose.

“Bit of a bold one to start off the morning, innit?” I muse, cringing inordinately as I see a substance falling out of one of the carriages.

Harry shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Better to experience it on an empty stomach.”

“True that,” I hum. “I think I should’ve worn pants with grips on the arse so I don’t slip out of the carriage.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows as if he’s actually considering my strange thought. “You could get a custom-made one from one of those trampoline park places ‘cause they do that with their socks.”

“Those socks are never comfortable,” I counter. “I reckon it’d feel like I have warts on my arse when I sit down, though.”

“The doctors will have to put dry ice on your arse, then,” Harry says and what the fuck even is this conversation?

I scrunch up my nose and shake my head. “That reminds me too much of science class now. You know, sublimation and shit.”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” he responds as we approach the back of the line for the ride. “I only remember solid, liquid and gas.”

I roll my eyes. “Those aren’t even processes, idiot.”

He feigns taking offence and furrows his eyebrows, defending himself, “Jesus, sorry for not knowing what a fucking precipitation is!”

“What a good student you are,” I drawl slowly, and I give him a sarcastic look to which he laughs at.  
He runs his hand through his hair and why does he have to look like a Greek god? I blink and shake that thought out of my mind because no one needs to know that I was thinking it.

“You know what I think?” I ask, continuing before Harry has a chance to say no like he always does, “I think that Niall is going to stuff his face and then Nick is going to force him to go with him on some intense ride and Niall will then throw up on Nick and Nick will get upset so he’ll drag Liam somewhere, leaving Niall and Zayn alone and they’ll end up graffitiing or getting drunk.”

Run-on sentences, my specialty.

“So, what? You’re psychic now?” Harry asks, sort of lazily as he leans back on one of the rails.

“That’s all you got out of that?” I question with a disgruntled huff.

“Yep,” he nods, his voice chipper before he challenges me, “Read my mind, then. What am I thinking right now?”

He sets his gaze on me and I look back at him, straight into his eyes like I’m correctly acting out my role of a proper and credible psychic. I could probably get lost in a whole daydream just by staring into his eyes. They tell stories, his eyes, and I can tell exactly what emotion Harry’s feeling when he looks at me. For example, when he’s happy, his eyes are a clear shade of chartreuse, or the colour of fresh, healthy grass, as I like to call it. When he’s angry, they fade down to a darker pine green but it also seems more cloudy. With that being said, those green orbs seem adequate to be placed on a shelf in the Department of Mysteries and Professor Trelawney could perhaps use them for her Divination class.

Now, as I’m staring into Harry’s eyes, I’m a little bit bemused. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly so I know he’s concentrating but his eyes are mid-tone green, like shamrock. I don’t read the emotion he’s feeling as neutral or nonchalant because there’s something else in there that I can’t put my finger on. I notice that his pupils are quite dilated, which is quite absurd seeing as the sun is shining on full blast today. That’s it, I can’t do it. I’m happy for someone to revoke my honourable title as a reliable psychic.

“Sorry, no can do. I can’t read your mind,” I tell him suddenly, scratching my head and looking up. “I think the sun’s burning my telepathic brain cells.”

Harry seems to snap out of some sort of trance he was in and gives me a hesitant kind of half-smile. “Well, that’s a shame. I thought you’d know me well enough by now. I suppose we’ll have to have another shot when it’s dark.”

“That sounds like a whole plot for a fantasy-horror movie,” I comment, turning my head to face away from Harry to stop myself from staring at him too long. I have a bad habit of doing that, I realise.

Harry hums and ponders over something before proposing an idea to me (I wish he actually proposed… forget I said that, please), “What say you to enduring a walk up a mountain on Sunday?”

I frown and send him a strange look. “Why the hell would I want to torture myself like that?”

He shrugs monotonously and lets his eyes wander around. “You withstand the pain for a while until you reach the top and you’re met with a beautiful view, so it’s all worth it in the end.”

I’m not sure if I’m listening to Harry talking or a philosophical TEDx speaker anymore. It all sounds quite deep and metaphoric to me.

“I have a bucket list and one of the things I want to do is go up a mountain, but I’ve never had the time to do it. I have some time on Sunday, so if you’re free, I don’t want to do it alone,” he continues and my breath hitches in my throat momentarily.

Is Harry Styles asking me out on another date (not that watching Harry Potter was even a date but that’s beside the point)? The thought constantly itches my mind but much to my disappointment, I keep having to remind myself that Harry’s my best mate and we’re just doing all these activities as mates. He’s straight and not interested in me. You hear that, brain? Besides, dating a boy is not an option for me, anyway. But, the fact that he wants me to help him complete his bucket list makes my knees weak.

“Sure, why not,” I say, a smile stretching on my face as I imagine Harry and myself being stupid idiots on a mountain and having the time of our lives. “A new experience for both you and me.”

I swear I see relief pass over Harry’s face as if I would ever reject him, but it only lasts for a split second before his face resumes its neutral expression. Interesting.

The ride has now come to an end and the supervisor is walking around on the platform and unlocking the doors to each other the carriages. I watch as each pair comes out of their designated carriage, some filled with adrenaline and large smiles plastered on their face, while others look scarred and are shaking in their boots. In my peripheral vision, one kid starts gagging and his friend rubs his back to soothe him. For those types of people who don’t like rides, like Zayn, theme parks are basically an open invitation to pay money to torture themselves for a few hours.

The line continues forward smoothly and the supervisor tells Harry and me that our carriage is the fifth one, gesturing in the relative location of it. I’m sweating for absolutely no reason. Maybe it’s the sun or perhaps it’s the adrenaline.

“Front or back?” Harry asks me and I mentally facepalm for forgetting the fact that one of us will have to sit in between the other’s legs with our back pressed against their front. How touchy. Harry quickly adds, “Actually, why am I even asking you. You’re quite small.”

I immediately narrow my eyes and scowl at him, resulting in him chuckling at me. “I’m massive!”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” Harry teases me, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he climbs into the carriage and wiggles his flat arse to the back (I’m getting him back for calling me short).

I follow suit and position myself in between his legs, ensuring that I make as little physical contact with him as possible because if I did, my brain might go into overload and my body might have a seizure, ending up in me tumbling out of the carriage and falling to my death. What to do when you have sensitive skin and the person you’re touching enhances that sensitivity?

“I’m constantly longing for the day when you’ll stop deriding my height,” I grumble as Harry squirms around behind me.

Surely, this theme park has a large enough budget to pay for larger carriages because now Harry’s feet are literally sandwiching my thighs and my legs are shivering at the same time as they are on fire. Begone, my desire to make as little physical contact with him as possible, I suppose.

“Just stating facts, mate. Nothing to be ashamed of,” Harry says and I can feel his breath tickling the back of my neck so I force myself not to shiver. What did I fucking say about physical contact?! Well, to be fair, I guess it’s not exactly ‘physical’ contact, it’s more like… aerial contact, or something similar. He carries on, “I walk, you jog. I run, you sprint. I do high jump, you need a trampoline. I grab the cookies from the top shelf, you stand on a stool so you can grab the cookies from the top shelf. I crouch when taking photos, you stand on your tiptoes-”

“Oh, fuck off!” I exclaim in exasperation, pinching his calf and making him flinch. “I’m of average height so you must be abnormally tall!”

“Actually, the average height of a British man is 175 centimetres, so what does that make you? Short,” he tells me like a fucking show-off. That’s more reason as to why his head’s so big, as well as the fact that his ego is through the roof.

“That also makes you abnormally tall, ‘cause you’re what? 183 centimetres,” I argue fiercely and he just laughs and ruffles my hair (which I forgot to comb this morning, not that I ever do anyway).

“Don’t worry, you’ll grow soon,” he reassures me but I know he’s only joking. I haven’t grown in, like, three years so I’ve most likely started shrinking by now.

Immediately after he says that, the supervisor comes around to close the doors to our carriage and lock it. There’s such a large hole in the side of the carriage that I can already envision myself falling out of it. Damn me and my pessimistic thoughts.

Once every carriage has been double-checked, the supervisor makes his way to the control panel and we start moving forwards and around very slowly. Today, I have decided to be brave and not hold on to the railing on the side, which is probably a terrible choice on my part, considering how anxious I am.

“I’m going to piss myself,” I whisper as I fiddle with my hands in my lap, the ride slowly but surely getting faster.

“Save yourself the embarrassment and please don’t,” Harry mutters. He suddenly goes stiff and I can tell he’s bracing himself.

Soon enough, the ride is almost at full speed and we’re slowly tipping over until we’re vertical. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and my heart is beating extra fast and loudly as I look down at the ground from the height I’m at. Every time we surge forward and drop, my stomach lurches and I literally feel like someone’s playing with my organs without injecting an anesthetic into me first. Ask me why I agreed to go on this ride and I won’t have a valid answer for you. As much as I hate the feeling during the ride, maybe the high is what hypes me up after.

“I’m going to fall out and die!” I yell over the harsh sound of the wind as it blasts in my face.

“Don’t worry! I’ll wingardium leviosa you when you do!” Harry shouts back and that’s not reassuring at all because he practically just confirmed that I’m going to fall out of the carriage.

“You’re not a fucking wizard, Harry, contrary to what they say!” I holler back, squinting my eyes so the wind and dust don’t get in them.

In the moment, it feels like forever before the ride gradually starts to lower back down until it’s horizontal and we’re slowing down. My heart starts beating at an appropriate speed again and I can already imagine how I look - hair messed up and all over the place, red in the face and breathing heavily; basically like I’ve just had sex (which has never happened before anyway).

“I didn’t die,” I breathe, my eyes wide in relief as the ride comes to a stop.

I hear Harry breathing heavily behind me and I’m glad to know I wasn’t the only one who was nearly having a panic attack while on the ride.

“You didn’t die for the past five times we’ve been on this ride,” Harry points out as the supervisor comes around to unlock our doors.

I use the last of my energy to heave the unnecessarily hefty door and step out of the carriage, onto the platform. Harry slides himself forward and I give him a helping hand as does the same and climbs out into the fresh air. He smooths down his clothes and looks up, a large grin on his face.

“That enterprise is a real enterprise,” he says like a fucking dork and I shove him playfully.

“Go away,” I roll my eyes as I follow him off the platform and back onto the main paths of the theme park. “Where do you think the others are?”

“Probably chillin’ out under some shade ‘cause they’re too spineless to go on any actual rides,” he replies before tilting his head to the side. “Or, the alternative - they’re hungry.”

“Methinks the second option,” I comment and sure enough, right in front of our very eyes, Zayn, Nick and Liam are lounging about at a table under the shade of a large umbrella.

Zayn has his eyes closed and the type of expression he would make if he was tanning but he’s not actually tanning since he’s in a shadow. Nick is messing about on his phone and Liam just looks like he’s having a good ol’ time with the lads. I skip ahead of Harry and approach them.

“Hey, lads! Wasting some good money, lounging around like this?” I say to them in greeting and Zayn’s eyes flutter open. Nick is too preoccupied with his new phone to care.

“We’re waiting for Niall to come back,” Liam informs us and I nod in response.

“Where’d he go?” Harry questions, his forehead creasing slightly.

“Toilet,” Liam responds as he squints and looks up at us. “How was your ride?”

I grin, the thrill of the ride still pumping through my veins. “Exhilarating, actually. I’d quite like to do it again.”

Harry nudges me and gives me a look. “Says the one who kept saying he was gonna die.”

“I’m just being vigilant!” I defend myself, searching around the place for a chair to sit on. I find some at another, unoccupied table and drag two back - one for me and one for Harry (because I’m nice).

I slump in my chair as a familiar head of blond hair pops out from within a small crowd. He’s grinning as he bounces towards us, juggling boxes and bags of whatever food he’s bought. It’s almost like he went on a McDonald’s run for a whole football team.

“Lads, I come bearing food!” he cheers as he messily dumps all the boxes and bags on the table, swiping his hands together as if he’s just made the best creation that has ever been thought of.

It’s then that Nick finally decides to get off his phone and look up. “What did you get?”

“Mozzarella sticks, loads of ‘em, and a truckload of fries. I got waffle fries as per a special request from the one and only Liam Payne. I think there’s some candy floss in one of the bags and also nachos somewhere around here. Oh yeah, and a churro for each of us, as well as some hot dogs,” Niall runs through his entire fast-food menu as he rummages through his purchases as if he’s looking for something. It seems like he’s found whatever he was looking for when he holds up a candy apple triumphantly. “Aha! And here is a special, limited-edition candy apple for my dear friend, Nicholas Grimshaw.”

“Sweet!” Nick exclaims and I’m not sure if the pun was intentional or not. He snatches the candy apple from Niall without a word of thanks and immediately commences devouring it down.

“Thanks, Niall,” Harry says, opening one of the boxes of fries and popping one in his mouth “I imagine you’ve used up all your summer savings, then?”

“Nope,” Niall shakes his head, popping the ‘p’. “I bargained and the old lady gave me a sweet deal for all of this. Said I was a ‘promising young man, with the potential to make it far’.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, Niall uses his loveable and friendly persona to manipulate innocent people who don’t know any better. It’s kind of smart, I’ll give him that.

Zayn suddenly stands up and stretches, rubbing his eyes as if he’s just woken up from a nap. “Lads, I’m off to the loo. I’ll be right back.”

“Want us to save some food for you?” Liam offers kindly but Zayn shakes his head. I scoff because there’s no way we’re going to finish all this food by the time he comes back… well, if Niall is extremely hungry, then we might.

“Nah, I already had a burger before and now I’m proper full,” Zayn responds.

Niall’s eyes widen and he chews extra fast so he can exclaim, “Wait, they didn’t have burgers at the stall!”

“Found them at another stall… that way,” the dark-haired boy explains, spinning around and jutting his thumb out in the opposite direction to which Niall had previously come from. With that, Zayn walks away and disappears amongst the other people.

I focus back my attention to the rest of the lads who seem to be enjoying their food, but nobody enjoys their food more than Niall. Niall looks like he’s in heaven.

“Look at this cheese,” Niall says, holding up a mozzarella stick, splitting it in half and giving us a view of the cheese. “This is exactly how a perfect mozzarella stick should be - the cheese must be stretchy and supple but tight and unyielding at the same time.”

“Hey, Niall, have you ever thought about being a food critic?” Harry inquires as he unwraps the plastic from around a stick of candy floss.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Niall replies, his mouth full.

“That’s a dumb job,” Nick states flatly, rolling his eyes as if he’s over it. “Why would you do that?”

“How do you know which restaurants are good to go to?” Harry asks, trying his best to stay nonchalant but I can tell he’s irritated by Nick’s blatant belittling of the job.

Nick shrugs. “Google reviews. Critiques from the general public are more trustworthy anyway since they’re from normal people who don’t stuff their face with calories for a living.”

I raise my eyebrows and purse my lips together as Nick takes his phone out of his pocket and resumes being antisocial.

“I think Niall would be an excellent food critic,” Liam declares in encouragement. “Wherever he goes to eat and ends up giving a positive review, I’ll be right on his heels.”

“Thanks, mate,” Niall grins, his spirits lifting a little. “Just don’t tread on me shoes, okay? Christmas present from Gran.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, over three-quarters of the food is gone and I am positively full. I’m not even sure if I’m in a good enough condition to go on any more rides or even be able to walk to one. There is some food leftover and like the responsible person he is, Liam collects all of the rubbish up and walks over to one of the close-by bins to dispose of it. 

“Where the hell is Zayn?” Liam asks as soon as he arrives back at the table.

I glance around and sure enough, Zayn is nowhere to be seen. He’s been gone for almost twenty minutes now and we were probably too caught up in our eating to notice, I guess.

“Zayn doesn’t get lost easily, does he?” I ask apprehensively, wondering if Zayn had gotten kidnapped or something. No, I push that thought away because there are more than enough people here to stop that from happening.

“I don’t think so,” Liam shakes his head, his expression contorting to one of worry as he furrows his thick eyebrows. He scratches his head.

“He said he was going to the loo but I don’t think he should be taking this long,” Harry points out and I nod in agreement.

“I’m going to look for him,” Liam tells us, beginning to head off and waving at us. “We’ll be back soon.”

I frown in bewilderment. Yeah, sure, Zayn is an independent guy who usually prefers to do things alone than with someone else but he’s not the type of person who strays away from his pack for an extended period of time. In fact, I’d think that most of the time, he prefers our company over being by himself.

“Guys, let’s go on the roller coaster while Zayn’s not here,” Nick speaks up all of a sudden and I can hear a hint of whininess in his voice.

Harry looks conflicted and a bit hesitant. “I think we should just wait here until Liam and Zayn come back, see if they’re okay.”

“Whatever,” Nick grumbles with a roll of his eyes - they seem to be doing a lot of that today. He crosses his arms and huffs like a six-year-old who didn’t get the princess dress she wanted. “I’m sure Zayn’s fine. You two losers can stay here. Niall, you coming with?”

Niall shoots us a cautionary glance before nodding slowly and following behind Nick as he walks towards the roller coaster. The line is long and it extends to a point that’s relatively close to the table we’re at, so I presume they’ll be standing there for quite a while.

I’ve never seen the reason behind all the hype around roller coasters. Roller coasters shouldn’t be known as something like the ‘king’ of a theme park. They’re literally just a ride where you sit in a cart and move forwards, so they don’t deserve to be at the top of the ‘theme park hierarchy’. Why go on a roller coaster when you can go on a much more exciting ride like the pirate ship or the dropper?

“We should totally go on the pirate ship one next,” Harry voices my thoughts because we’re so in sync like that. Maybe he’s the psychic one.

“I was just thinking that,” I reply with a smile. “I hope the belts are looser on this one because the last time I went, the belt was so tight and I was practically suffocating. Nice captain I’d make, not being able to breathe.”

“Definitely,” Harry agrees with a nod. “And we have to sit at the very front or back for the full experience.”

He’s right. The pirate ship is that ride where there’s a huge-ass ship and rows of seats for the passengers to sit in. It rocks back and forth, it’s swings getting larger gradually and in that increasing aspect, it’s kind of like The Enterprise. Sitting back or the front are the best options because those are the points that reach the vertex of the ride, which equate to the best experience possible.

A few minutes later, Harry and I are indulged in a deep conversation about whether having monkeys as a domestic pet should be normalised for people without permits. I am on the affirmative side, arguing that monkeys would be wonderful pets because they’re human-like and can basically be someone’s new best friend but Harry thinks monkeys would end up causing a mess inside people’s houses. If you ask me, that reasoning is not persuasive at all!

“So, tell me, would you, personally, adopt a pet monkey?” Harry challenges, or he thinks he’s being challenging but it’s an easy question in reality.

“Of course, I would!” I exclaim in response. “I’ve already got four monkeys in my house so another won’t hurt!”

“Okay, but imagine you wake up at night because you’re thirsty, so you go down your hallway and suddenly, a head of a hideous creature pops out from around the corner,” Harry describes, his voice dramatic all of a sudden like he’s trying to scare me. “Wouldn’t that scare you half to death?”

“Keyword, half, so I’ll still be alive,” I reply cheekily. “I bet it’d scare you all the way to death, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, unlike some people, I’m not going to keep a monster in my house long enough to get used to it!” Harry counters, his voice rising.

I scowl at him. “Monkeys are not monsters! In fact, they’re beautiful creatures-”

“Lads!” my head snaps towards the direction in which the voice came from and I see Liam waving at us, nearly slapping Zayn in the face. The dark-haired boy is glued to his side and Liam grins. “Found him!”

“Zayn!” Harry says happily. “Where’d you run off to?”

Zayn shrugs, a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Line to the loo was long.”

I raise my eyebrows. It seriously couldn’t have taken twenty whole minutes for Zayn to be able to go to the toilet. I narrow my eyes to study his face, but he looks away too quickly, glancing around.

“Where’s Nick and Niall?” he inquired, changing the subject.

“Lining up for the roller coaster,” Harry answers. “The line’s pretty long so I’m not sure how long they’ll take.”

Liam nods his head and makes some sort of noise to show that he understands.

“Hey, Harry and I were thinking of going on the pirate ride. You guys up for it?” I ask, nodding my head towards the large ship that was swinging back and forth.

Liam looks towards Zayn expectantly and the latter smiles sheepishly, curling his fingers into a fist and swinging it up to his chest. “Aye, me hearties.”

Though all four of us are full to the brim with food and susceptible to throwing up, we have a fun time on the pirate ship. Harry and I manage to bag the front seats while Liam and Zayn sit behind. Harry cracks stupid pirate jokes while the rest of us speak in as much pirate lingo as we know (which is not much, to be fair). Fortunately, the belts on the seats are not as tight as they were last time and I have some room to breathe.

We go on a couple more rides after that and Niall buys more mozzarella sticks because they’re apparently ‘perfection disguised as food’, according to him. Luckily, Nick isn’t too much of a hassle to bear with for the rest of the day and he either goes off somewhere with Niall or is glued to his phone. And Harry and I go on The Enterprise again, just because we can.

At the end of the day, when we’ve all gotten sick of all the rides (pun not intended), it’s mid-afternoon and we bid each other our farewells. Nick leaves first, saying that he must tend to his horse while Niall bounces away excitedly because there’s a newly-built McDonald’s just around the corner. I give Zayn’s slim figure a hug while Liam messes up my hair again because he has a habit of doing that, and then it’s just me and Harry (*insert smiley face here*).

“There’s a shopping centre ‘round here, I think,” Harry said, his forehead creasing as he looks around at the buildings that surround us. They’re mostly apartments, with the occasional clinic or shop. “You up for a stroll around?”

Almost immediately after he says that, his phone buzzes in his pocket and he whips it out to read the notification. He raises his eyebrows and looks at me.

“Guess not, then,” he tells me and my heart sinks just a little, but only a little. “Gemma needs me home as soon as possible, sorry. She says it’s an ‘emergency’.”

I give him a reassuring smile and wave my hand to dismiss his apology. “No worries. I’ll see you on Sunday, then?”

He beams as I remind him of the fact that I’ve agreed to torture myself and walk up a mountain to help him check something off his bucket list. I imagine Harry choosing a mountain with a slope that’s about fifty degrees and while he’s having absolutely no trouble at all hiking, I’m struggling to trudge behind him, tripping over loose twigs and face planting into the dirt. I shake that unpleasant thought out of my head.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he tells me genuinely and steps forward to grab the back of my head before swooping in for a kiss on my temple that only lasts for a fleeting moment. After that, he practically skips away, leaving me to stand alone, in front of the entrance to the theme park and frozen to the core. I might as well be mistaken for a statue. Fuck, he really has to stop doing that or else one day, I’ll react inappropriately and my cover will be blown!

With a loud exhale, I shake my head to get rid of my thoughts and plod along the path towards the pedestrian crossing, where the light has already turned green. I keep my head down (because do you even know how insanely awkward to consciously know that there are strangers staring at you from their cars as you walk?) and kick a lone stone across the road, probably preventing a punctured tyre anyway. Whoever crosses that path can thank me later. I’ll be waiting.

I have nothing better to do with my life today so I head towards the closest entrance to the shopping centre, Rihanna’s Only Girl (In The World) progressively getting louder in my ears as I near the automatic doors. It’s quite an appropriate song for how I feel right now, I suppose, but no one has to know that.

Because I’m not good with strangers, I avoid eye contact with everyone I pass or who is in a close proximity to me and make my way towards one of the homeware stores that I’ve never once laid my eyes on in my life. I don’t know why I’m going to it in the first place because I don’t even like shopping for homeware but I feel some sort of a magnetic tugging in the direction of it. 

The store is relatively empty and quiet, with some soft lo-fi music playing in the background. I realise that it’s one of those really aesthetic shops that I think Lottie would enjoy, so maybe I could buy something for her. A cushion, a light, a photo frame? It seems to me like Lottie already owns one of everything this store has to offer!

I walk over to the department where they sell what looks to be office supplies. I kid you not, basically every item has at least five clones of it but in a different colour. I scan the assortment of scissors they offer and they’re all very diverse - some are for craft, some are child-safe and some are probably to cut nose hairs. But what strikes me is that they don’t have any left-handed scissors. I scrunch up my nose. What discrimination! Niall would be extremely offended!

I make my way towards the kitchenware section, where they sell small kitchen appliances, plates, cutlery and such, and my eyes fall on a cup that reads take it like a thief in the night. Well, I’ll be damned. Of course, there’s bound to be a cup with some of the lyrics from what seems to be the most popular song in the world right now - the song that was playing earlier. I chuckle to myself, thinking that this would be a wonderful present to gift to someone, I don’t know… someone like Harry?

So, naturally, because I’m an impulsive and spontaneous guy, I take one of the cup boxes and find my way to the counter. There isn’t anyone waiting so I walk straight up to the first register. I hand over the box and the lady chuckles lightly as she looks at it and scans it.

“Nice choice. You a Rihanna fan, then?” she questions, raising an eyebrow and eyeing me.

“Mildly,” I shrug and I’m telling the truth because I don’t know shit about Rihanna.

She asks me if I would like a bag and I decline, tucking the box under my arm and walking out of the shop with a giddy smile on my face. I feel like a naive teenager with a crush and that’s completely accurate because I have decidedly come to terms with the fact that I am really a naive teenager with a crush. Well, at least, in my mind, I have come to terms with it but I know that if someone was to ask me about my feelings, I wouldn’t hesitate to deny them. Plus, it’s not like I can even act on my feelings, can I?

Because I’m lacking in a form of private transportation, I locate the nearest bus stop and stand there like an awkward potato. The rush of the cars in front of me causes my hair to constantly fly into my face and I can’t count the number of times I have to swipe it out of my eyes. It’s not exactly windy today, in fact, I have to squint when looking forward because of how bright the sun is. But the wind that comes from the cars blow gusts of air at me, prompting goosebumps rising on my skin as I shiver.

The only time I take my eyes off the road is when, in my peripheral vision, I spot a lady and a young girl, about four, approaching the bus stop. The lady is clasping her daughter’s hand firmly in her own but the little girl seems to be trying to drag her mother forward somewhere. I don’t pay much mind to them for a while until the girl points a sharp finger in my direction. I have to strain my ears to hear them over the racket of the road.

“Boyfriend!” is the only word I can make out because the girl exclaims it loudly with a wide grin on her face, displaying her array of tiny teeth. The rest of her babbling is too quiet and drowned out by the other noise for me to hear.

All of the sudden, the girl wrenches her hand out of her mother’s grip and lunges in my direction, flinging herself on me and latching onto my waist. I almost jump back in surprise, which would have ended up in me banging my head against a street sign and getting a concussion, inevitably causing me to die in mere seconds. But luckily I don’t. Instead, I let out a gasp and stumble backwards as the girl looks up at me imploringly.

“Boyfriend,” she says to me again, raising her light eyebrows and tilting her head to the side as if she’s expecting something from me, probably to be her boyfriend, I suppose. I have four younger sisters, for god’s sake. I should be able to handle this!

“Uh…” I stammer awkwardly, furrowing my eyebrows and raising my head to look up at her mother, who looks the picture of horrified.

The lady rushes over, muttering a string of apologies and grabs her daughter’s arms, unwrapping them from around me. The girl kicks and pouts as she’s dragged away, clearly incandescent that she can’t pretend that she’s a koala and I’m a tree. Her mother looks at me apologetically.

“Sorry about that. She’s not usually like this!” she says sheepishly and I can even see her cheeks flush red from under her heavy blush.

“Mum!” the girl squeals, her face lighting up as she points at me again and giggles. She’s in a weird position now, slumped against her mother’s legs as her worn-out mother holds her up from under her humerus. I’m confused as she screams again, “Boyfriend!”

Her mother shakes her head and lets out a nervous chuckle, and I try to put on my best reassuring face. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what she’s going on about.”

I shake my head with a forced smile in an attempt to put her at ease (I’m so awkward with strangers ugh). I compel myself to talk cheerily, “Don’t worry about it!”

I nearly cringe at how high-pitched my voice goes and now I realise why literally everyone I know constantly reminds me about how bad I am at lying.

The girl bursts into a fit of laughter before seemingly calming down and staring straight into my eyes with her cheeks stretched in a grin. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

If I’m being honest, I’m a little taken aback at how blunt the question is but I try not to let my polite smile falter. I watch as the mother gives her daughter a stern look and hisses, what I imagine are words of reprimanding, in her ear.

I furrow my eyebrows and opt to answer the little girl, “Uh, I don’t, actually. Do you?”

The girl’s face seems to harden and she almost glares at me. I wonder what I’ve said wrong and brace myself for whatever she’s going to say.

“No,” she replies flatly, a frown etched on her young face. She seems to get over it quickly enough, though, and soon, an even wider smile is plastered on her face. “But I have a girlfriend!”

I raise my eyebrows and try to form the expression in between surprised and supportive as best as I can on my face. Her mother just shakes her head and continues looking at me with an abashed smile.

“Oh, you do?” I question. “What’s her name.”

“Cora!” she beams and her mother’s expression suddenly turns fond, so I’m guessing that this is a heartwarming announcement. “She’s also my best friend but we kiss sometimes!”

“That’s sweet,” I tell her, my mind wandering to the land of thoughts of my own best mate. “Make sure you take care of her and keep her close.”

I guess I must’ve been looking too wistful because she points it out. “You look sad. Don’t you love your best friend?”

My eyes slowly drift back to her and I give her a small, closed-mouth smile, speaking softer, “Yeah, I do. A lot.”

“Well, make sure you take care of them and keep them close.” She repeats my words from earlier and looks at me with a triumphant smile. Her mother now looks amused.

I laugh. “Don’t worry, I will.”

Right at that moment, the bus pulls up to the stop and I hop on, grabbing a seat that’s relatively close to the door. The girl and her mother take a seat near the back, which is basically on the opposite end of the bus, but not before the girl waves at me cheerily and I send her a small wave back. Now, that was a strange but enjoyable interaction if I’ve ever had one!

The bus rumbles and makes a series of alarming noises as it accelerates and drives away from the bus stop. I glance around the bus, noticing that there are only around three other people on here and they’re all seated very far from one another (except for the girl and her mother, of course). I finally move my gaze to the window opposite me and watch the trees outside as they pass in a blur. What else can you do when you’re friendless and alone on a bus?

I’m approximately halfway through the bus journey when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out, unlock it and skim the text message.

Mum: Hey, honey. Are you on your way home?

I quickly reply with a one-word answer because I’m not fucking eloquent, okay?

Me: yes

I stare at the screen for about thirty seconds before the three dots appear and start jumping consecutively as Mum types. Perhaps a minute later, I give up waiting and turn off the phone because parents these days are hopeless with technology. Ha, I should propose Technology Usage Level 1 classes for my parents for extra pocket money.

It seems like another five minutes before my phone buzzes again.

Mum: Do you mind stopping by the Christian bookstore on Rothensons Street and buying me this?

Another thirty seconds… 

Mum: image.jpg

When I say my heart drops, I mean it just about plummets out of my entire body and continues falling through the ground until it reaches the earth’s core, burns and explodes. I inhale sharply in order to get some air into my brain so it cools down, but there’s no purpose. I’m already about to hit my boiling point.

The photo she sends me is just a screenshot from the Christian bookstore’s website and one of their products. It’s a small grey book with Why It Is A Sin To Be Gay typed printed out in all caps and positioned right smack-bang in the centre of the front cover. The words are in white and they almost seem to be glaring at me, attacking me and pointing their index finger straight at my face. It’s as if they know what I’m thinking and have the sole intention of humiliating me and trampling over me until I’m mouldered into a fine dust.

My mouth runs dry and my fingers are wobbly as I type my reply.

Me: ok

I turn off my phone and shove it back in my pocket, dreading to look at it right now. I lean my head back on the seat and let my eyelids droop loosely as I try to get myself together. It takes me a few deep breaths for me to remember that it’s just a book that I’m buying for Mum. It’s just some sheets of paper that are bound together with a mess of senseless words written on them. It means nothing to me, absolutely nothing. Besides, it’s not even for me. It’s for Mum.

I’m lying. Of course, I’m lying. I don’t know if I can even walk through the doors of that Christian bookstore without feeling completely ostracised and like an outsider (I once went to the bookstore when I was six and a girl told me that my mouth was too big. Rude. But that’s not the point). To go to the bookstore and spend my own money on a book that wholly goes against my personal values? I don’t know if I can do that.

I briefly consider bypassing the store and going straight home instead but I’ve already given Mum the thumbs up for her request so I can’t back out now. I mentally repetitively facepalm, cursing myself for acting on impulse yet again. If anything, I should be able to be more careful and premeditated with text messaging than talking!

I fucking hate my life.

I’m a complete grump when the bus arrives at my stop and I get off of it, neglecting to say a thank you to the driver. I’m sure I look like an asshole as I trudge down the path and I keep my head bowed to stop myself from glaring at everyone who passes me. I don’t even care anymore that my fringe is blocking half my vision, much less that my mouth is set in a permanent scowl.

I arrive at the bookstore and pause before I go in, looking up at the sign that protrudes out of the roof and wishing I could rip it out and make a hole in the building. I want to smash everyone unconscious and scream at them until their ears bleed, and rip apart every single product that sits proudly on display on the shelves. But instead, I take a deep breath to compose myself and enter the shop, finding my way to the Social Issues section. 

It isn’t difficult to find the small grey (it’s a pretty ugly grey, too) book, taking into consideration that it is sitting on one of the primary displays with a large On Sale sign hanging on top of it. The fact that it’s on sale probably means that it’s not selling well so the shop felt the need to lower the price and that thought makes me grin… no, grimace just slightly. I slowly reach out to grab it and pull it off the shelf.

The book burns like fire when it’s in my hands and I feel as if I’m betraying myself just by holding it. The title continues to taunt me so I roll my eyes back at it in return and let my arm fall to my side as I stride towards the counter.

Once again, there is no line so I almost slap the book on the bench and a lump rises in my throat when the cashier scans the barcode, mumbling in gibberish to herself. She calls for five pounds and I reluctantly swipe my card through the pin pad like a sloth who hasn’t slept in a week. She doesn’t offer me a bag so I nearly snatch the book and the receipt before I flee from the store without looking back.

I hate myself for even making skin-to-paper contact with the book and a sick feeling rises in my stomach as I realise that I paid for it with my own money - money that I worked my ass off for. Now, here I am, walking back home to my house with a homophobic book in my hand that I chose to follow through and buy. Just kill me now. 

It takes ten more minutes of me bearing the weight of this book in my hand before I arrive at the house. I slot my key through the keyhole, let my eyelids flutter shut and take a deep breath before twisting the lock and opening the door. God, help me.

“Oh, honey, you’re back!” Mum exclaims as she scurries towards me from the kitchen with one oven mitt and wearing her usual polka dot apron. She envelopes in a hug before pulling away and beaming at me. “Did you have fun at the theme park?”

I force a smile but it probably looks more as if I’m in pain, like I’ve broken a leg or two and am putting pressure on them. “Yeah, I did.”

“Can’t imagine how you boys can bear to go on those crazy rides! How do you not get dizzy?!” she exclaims, rushing back towards the kitchen to turn down the fire on the stove. I don’t answer so she continues. “How are your friends? Are they alright?”

I nod hesitantly, scratching my head and trying not to pull a face. “Uh, yeah. They’re okay?”

I say that more like a question than a statement but she doesn’t seem to pick up on my disinclination.

“That’s good, that’s good,” she tells me and I watch her grab a spoon from one of the drawers and begin stirring something in a bowl. I stand in place for a good few seconds before she looks back up at me. “Now, did you find the book that I asked you to get?”

I grimace harder than before and hold up the book, hurrying towards the kitchen bench to give it to her. “Yeah, I did. Here you go.”

But before I even get close to placing it on the table and freeing my hand from the freight, she interrupts me. “Oh, no, no. I don’t want it. That’s for you to read.”

I halt in my tracks and stare at her, wide-eyed and flies flitting into my mouth. She must be taking the piss.

“What?”

She pays no mind to my blatant startle and continues stirring whatever food that’s in the bowl.

“It’s for you to read,” she repeats. “And later, you can tell me what you learnt from it.”

I stagger backwards with the book still in my hand and my eyes like saucepans. She’s not joking. Slowly, I nod my head and open my mouth, wondering if I can even still speak because my mouth is completely desiccated.

“O-Okay,” I stammer before absconding out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into my room - my safe haven.

I remember not to slam the door behind me and I carelessly fling the book onto my desk because I really don’t care for it at the moment. With a loud sigh, I crash on my bed and bury my head in my pillow, balling my hands into fists and yearning to scream my frustrations away.

But I can’t.

Instead, I keep my head submerged in the softness of my pillow as my face begins to heat up. I feel a prickling at my eyes and before I know it, tears are pouring out of them, soaking my pillow and causing it to become uncomfortably damp. My breaths are becoming staggered and shallow, and I’m finding it difficult to breathe. But I don’t uncover my pillow from my mouth because my body doesn’t deserve physical freedom until I am liberated in real life.

I fucking hate my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello !
> 
> So most of the things that happened in this chapter are true, like me going to the theme park with my friends and my mum asking me to buy an anti-lgbt book. I threw that book somewhere in the living room and idk where it is anymore.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave kudos if you liked it and tell me your thoughts in the comments !


	4. A Platonic Picnic on a Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis go hiking and contemplate life.

I have a problem. I have a problem but it’s not like a problem that I can solve by talking to someone or by giving someone money. I have a problem but it’s not a friendship problem or an issue with my schoolwork and how I handle it. I have a problem but it doesn’t affect me too much physically or mentally, in fact, I think it’s just something psychological - a habit in my brain that I can’t overcome.

Normally, if someone were to ask me how ambitious I am, I’d probably say that I’m not very ambitious. However, I do have big dreams. The thing is, my dreams are all in my head and they’re never implemented in my life. I’m not quite sure what’s stopping me from following through with my aspirations, whether I’m too scared, unmotivated or just plain lazy, but all I know is that most of the things I want or wish for will never be fulfilled.

So, that’s my problem - whenever I think of something I want to do or a goal I have to complete, I never actually end up getting it done. That’s it. I’m all thinking and no doing. The closest I ever get to effecting it in real life is when I imagine every scenario and every single outcome, good and bad. Sometimes, I worry that other people will find me overbearing just by me trying to achieve my dreams. Perhaps, that’s why everything permanently resides in my brain.

My problem applies to everything I do in life. For example, I’ll come up with the marvellous idea to learn how to cook but then I won’t end up doing it because I’ll worry that people will judge me. I’ll have the fantastic objective to audition for the school musical but then I won’t because I’ll fret too much about everything else a being in a musical encompasses - having to sing a song and read lines in front of people who are straight-up judging you, having to memorise so many lines and having to perform in front of a whole entire auditorium of an audience. I shouldn’t think too far ahead because I would have inevitably been rejected anyway.

I wonder if maybe my problem is that I have a combination of way too much fear, anxiety and a lack of motivation inside of me.

My problem is also the reason why I’m never the one to make the first move. I’m never the first one to start a conversation; yeah, sure, I’m quite comfortable asking questions during a conversation but I’ll never initiate or lead the conversation in the first place (unless I’m with Harry). I’m also never the one to pitch an idea or propose something to a group. Nick and Niall are the ones who usually suggest and plan what we do when we hang out as us six lads, and Harry’s the one who puts forward ideas when we hang out alone.

I will never make the first move on someone… I don’t even know how! How does one go up to someone they like romantically and ask them out without getting all flustered and tongue-tied. I’m telling you, if I were to one day walk up to someone and indirectly admit to them that I like them by asking them on a date (the prospect of this happening is underground but just imagine it), I’d do so by tripping over my shoes and face planting into a puddle of gumbo, while simultaneously forgetting how to speak English and setting myself (and potentially the other person) on fire in the process. That is only one of the possible scenarios that I imagine could play out.

I suddenly have a lot of respect and admiration for all the people who have ever made the first move in their life.

I have also briefly thought about an almost-impossible situation where I come out to someone. It could be my parents, my sisters, my friends, Harry or even my great-grandpa (at his grave, of course). I’ve imagined myself standing in front of them, fidgeting my arse off (not twerking, though) and my face heating up until I embody a beetroot. My eyes are wide and it takes me about ten minutes for me open my mouth to speak, but instead of simply saying the words i’m gay, I end up spewing all over the person/people that I’m talking and that results in me dying from involuntary-spasmodic-movement-overload or something.

Yep. Never going to happen.

I have also thought about my problem causing complications within my relationships with people (not that I have very many relationships with inanimate objects). Say, I was to somehow score myself a boyfriend (I don’t know when that will ever happen, if it does, anyway) and another guy or girl tried to hit on him. Yes, I would be extremely jealous and I would definitely have the thought of demonstrating my possessiveness by ripping my boyfriend away from the vicious predator. But it will only stay as a thought and I won’t actually do it because I’ll worry that I’m being too overbearing. That would eventually lead to my boyfriend and I getting into an argument because he’ll think I don’t care about him enough to mark him as mine. (Of course, that will never actually happen because I can’t have a boyfriend, so I guess I’ll just have to stay single for the rest of my life.)

Problems like mine, they don’t go away easily. It’s exceptionally difficult to grow out of a habit you’ve been practising for almost eighteen years. I’ve learnt to rely on it, almost. I rely on other people to do things for me that I don’t have the courage to do, like making friends.

Flashback - Grade 1

It’s the second day of school and I’m sitting at a table with three other strangers because yesterday, I didn’t know how to make friends. In my defence, yesterday was only an orientation day where we were taken on a tour of the school, so I didn’t really have the time to talk to people. The three strangers seem to know each other because they’re giggling together and showing their colouring pages to each other.

At the start of the day, the teacher told us to be friendly and be inclusive of people. I’m not really sure what ‘inclusive’ means but it sounds like the word ‘include’... which I also don’t know the meaning of. But from the word ‘friendly’, I’m assuming that she wants us to talk to each other and make a lot of friends. I don’t know how to do that.

I grab the brown pencil because no one seems to want it. It’s long and has a sharp tip, so I don’t think it’s been used before. I place it on the white spot on the paper and start colouring in the hair, making sure I don’t go out of the lines. 

I don’t know how long I’ve been colouring for when the teacher announces that she and the other classroom helper are going to take us all to the toilet. I don’t know what the point of having a whole-class toilet run is because I don’t even need to go anyway, but I suspect it’s because it’s only our second day in this maze of a building.

The rest of the class practically skip to the door, pushing each other out of the way so they can be the first person in line but being right under the teacher’s nose doesn’t really appeal to me. I lag behind and find my rightful place at the back but much to my dismay, the classroom helper stands behind me to close off the line. So much for me hoping to not draw attention to myself.

The twenty-three strangers in front of me are getting along well, telling interesting (well, to them they’re interesting) stories to each other and laughing their heads off. I feel a sort of nagging in my gut that wants me to join in but I don’t know how to do that without seeming invasive. I don’t want to intrude on a private conversation and intrude it but at the same time, I really do want to.

There is another stranger at the back with me, apart from the classroom helper. The classroom helper is only standing behind me to make sure I don’t fall too much behind and get lost. She’s not there to talk or make friends and I don’t want to be friends with her either because otherwise the rest of the class will make fun of me for sucking up to the adults. I recognise the other stranger as one of the kids who hung out with the big (it’s only made up of, like, six people, but that’s still big compared to the number of friends in my non-existent friend group), popular group this morning.

I don’t know why this stranger is walking next to me because he should be at the front with the rest of his friends. I don’t think he’s here on his own will; he probably was asked to by the teacher.

I stare at the ground as we make our journey to the toilets, even though I really should look up and around at my surroundings so I can become familiar with them. The school walls are dull and taupe, and they don’t interest me one bit. The only barely fascinating thing I see is the half-ripped poster that’s a photo from last year’s musical but even that doesn’t hold my attention for more than a second.

We arrive at the toilets and almost the whole class dashes for the respective bathrooms, but I stay behind because I don’t see the point of having a tea party in the bathroom if I don’t actually need to go. I stand outside between the teacher and the classroom helper because they’d probably scold me if I mindlessly wandered off, but I’m quite surprised to see that the stranger lingered behind as well.

I have my hands clasped together behind my back and my eyes trained on the brick wall in front of me as the four of us stand in complete and utter, awkward silence. I don’t know if I’m supposed to say something or initiate a conversation with the adults but it seems out of line to do so. I’m not good at talking to people.

The class takes forever in the toilets and even after five minutes, no one has come out and I’m still frozen in the same place. I surmise that they’re taking so long because they’re having a picnic with their imaginary teddy bears or sticking wet tissues on the roof. The thought of a wet tissue falling on my head causes me to shiver slightly.

I’m beginning to get bored and a little restless while I’m standing here, and I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I suddenly turn my head to the left. I rotate my head to look at the stranger but then I freeze because he’s looking straight back at me. It’s my worst nightmare to make mutual eye contact with a person (or an animal like a dangerous bear or something).

I don’t know what to do because if I look away too fast, he’ll think I’m some sort of socially-inept freak. But if I hold my gaze, he’ll think I’m some sort of obsessive freak. But then, he does something that I don’t expect and I’m almost blown out of the country in shock.

He smiles at me.

I furrow my eyebrows and tilt my head to the side in confusion because I don’t know why he’s smiling at me. Maybe he’s doing it by mistake and he doesn’t realise it because it’s just a natural reflex to him. In my effort to not be disrespectful or painfully awkward, I force a small smile on my face in return but he only smiles wider.

When the class regroups, I don’t expect the smiley stranger to stay by my side but he does. He doesn’t return to his friends when we arrive back at the classroom. Instead, he asks me if I want to sit next to him and I wordlessly nod my head slowly in response.

I learn that his name is Nick.

Fast-Forward - Grade 3

Nick and I are best friends and pretty much attached to the hip. Our personalities are the complete opposite but they create a sort of leader-follower dynamic that helps us to move along. Nick is a very outgoing person who speaks his mind and makes friends like it’s second nature to him. He’s got a sort of unabashed character and isn’t afraid of what people think of him. I, on the other hand, am very timid and reserved. The people I talk to are the people who are associated with Nick. I don’t mind it, though, because I wouldn’t have any connections if I was alone.

Usually, during break times, Nick neglects to eat some food before he gets ready to have a game of football with his other mates. I’m not as eager as him so I spend my time having a snack and because I’m a slow eater, that often takes up most of the break. Most of the time, Nick will come up to me and beg me to eat faster so he can drag me to the field so I do what he says and I eat faster. My stomach flips when I run around.

Today, however, Nick tells me that he wants to introduce a friend to me so we maybe can form a small trio. I’m not really sure why Nick wants to have another group of friends because he’s already in the large, popular clique, but I go along with it anyway. I follow him as he leads me down the hallway and into another section of the school.

I’m never sure what to expect when Nick tries to introduce me to people because it seems like he knows anyone and everyone, no matter their background or interests. I find myself standing in front of a bench on which a boy with curly, brown hair sits. He’s sort of slumped over and he’s got his nose buried in a Harry Potter novel. I’m quite impressed because not many kids our age are able to read literature that advanced.

“Hi, Harry,” Nick says joyfully when we approach the boy.

The boy looks pretty startled when he looks up from his book and his big, green eyes gleam in surprise. He looks between Nick and me, and mutters a barely audible, “Hi.”

I feel my hands start to sweat and I hide them behind my back because I don’t know what else to do when I’m in situations like this. Perhaps, my face also starts to heat up. I’m a little bit embarrassed.

“Harry, this is my best friend, Louis,” Nick introduces me and my chest swells in pride that he referred to me as his ‘best friend’. Out of all the friends he has, he still chooses me. Then, he looks back to me and introduces Harry.

I tip my head over and give the boy a sort of half-smile that I feel is a little convincing, but not quite there yet. Harry seems pretty shy as well, which worries me because I’m never good at making friends with shy people. I don’t talk and the other person talks, so no one talks and we end up sitting in complete silence. It was easier to make friends with Nick; because he did the majority of the talking.

Eventually, Harry appears to muster up the strength to grin back at me, even if it’s only a small grin. He looks more friendly when he smiles.

“Hi, Louis,” he says to me and I have to suppress a beam on my face. 

Almost immediately, Nick dives straight into a conversation about a movie he’d watched with his family on the weekend. He rambles on and on but I only sit there in silence, occasionally looking up at him and Harry so they know I’m paying attention. Harry smiles at me quite a bit in return and when he does, a cute dimple appears in his cheek. Aside from saying three or so words, he doesn’t talk much either.

Every day, from then on, Nick, Harry and I spend at least one break time together and when Nick goes off to play football, I’m left alone with the curly-headed boy. I don’t know why he does, but he somehow seems to want to get to know me more and before I know it, we’re chatting like we’ve been friends for years.

We’re inseparable, Harry and I, and the whole school knows it. He encourages me to come out of my shell and step out of my comfort zone, but not in the pushy way that Nick does. In return, I chat to him endlessly about his hobbies, his dreams, his favourite books and anything else we can think of to talk about.

It’s almost as if we’re a packaged deal and one of us can't be sold separately to the other.

Fast-Forward - Present

Maybe a year or so later, Nick had befriended a chirpy, Irish lad called Niall and he had joined our group. Niall was the guy who fired up the parties and kept them going until late. There was no stopping him once he had started. Zayn practically sleep-walked into our group; one moment, he wasn’t there and then the next moment, he was. None of us really remember how he joined but he managed to click instantly. Finally, at the start of Secondary, Harry introduced Liam. It was quite a surprise to me when I found out that he also attended the same church as I did and that made us closer as friends.

Let me just reiterate that not once did I physically and independently go up to a human being and initiate a conversation, with the intention of befriending them. So, I guess I have to owe it to Nick for basically founding our group of friends. Without his millions of connections, I would never have become friends with the lads and I’d just be sulking inside a cubicle in the girls’ toilets every lunch break. 

***

“You brought a rucksack?”

My eyes are goggling and are nearly falling out of their sockets as I gape at the large receptacle that’s weighing down on Harry’s back. It’s not the biggest rucksack but the way the contents inside of it are almost causing it to burst gives me anxiety and makes my heart race a little.

I am standing at the foot of a mountain with my basic hiking shoes and a windcheater. I didn’t even think to bring a water bottle but here is Harry, with his fucking big-ass rucksack as if he’s planning to go on a full-on camping trip.

He tries to shrug but the weight of the bag on his back causes him to struggle. “We’re going to have a picnic when we reach the top.”

Oh, of course. I should’ve expected this from Harry; he’s always going the extra mile and exceeding my expectations yet again (pun not intended).

“A picnic, you say?” I state, raising an eyebrow.

He nods confidently in response. “Yes, a picnic. Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, no, of course, not!” I reply, shaking my head frantically to reassure him that I don’t think his idea is bad. I look to the side and furrow my eyebrows. “Is that even allowed, though?”

Harry rolls his eyes at me and shuts the car door from where he retrieved his rucksack. “You say that as if there’s going to be cops hanging out at the top of the mountain, lying in wait to catch us as soon as we do something remotely questionable.”

“I’m just not ready to go to jail yet,” I grumble in a poor attempt at defending myself. I look over at Harry and suddenly feel a little imbalanced since he’s carrying, like, ten kilos and I’m carrying the air.

“Come on, Lou… it’s not even rebellious at all,” he whines, pouting slightly. “Live a little for once and if you really hate having a picnic on top of the mountain, then we’ll never do it again.” He pauses for a moment and looks at me before continuing, “Look, we’re still going to do it, no matter your excuse. I’ve come prepared, see, I’ve got a bunch of torches and electronic candles in case it gets dark, I have a lot of food to replenish all our lost calories after our walk up. I even brought sick bags and a first aid kit in case any of us eat too much and throw up on the way down-”

I walk over to him and wave my hands around in his face so he’ll shut up.

“Okay, okay, too much information. I’ll have a picnic with you,” I say, rolling my eyes but he just grins widely. “What even is the altitude up there? What if there’s not enough oxygen and we suffocate and die? There’s not going to be cops hanging out at the top of the mountain so who’ll be there to collect our bodies and tell our families that we died while having a picnic, huh?”

My tone gets sharper with every word but Harry knows I’m joking and he laughs loudly.

“This mountain,” he gestures towards it, “is literally nowhere close to high enough to lack in oxygen. I’d even say it’s more of a hill than a mountain.”

“But it still counts as a mountain on your bucket list?” I question, curving my brow.

The corners of his lips twitch mischievously. “I’m just looking out for you and your short legs! Always the considerate one, I am.”

He looks slightly proud when he says that and I glare in response, smacking the back of his head sharply.

“There goes your picnic,” I threaten and his smile immediately drops. I cross my arms and step backwards, towards the start of the hiking trail. “Come on, let’s start before it gets too dark and we get eaten alive by the wolves.”

I turn around before Harry has a chance to reply and soon enough, I hear the sound of his car locking and he jogs up to my side with his rucksack bouncing on his back. In front of the trail, there’s a large sign outlining the different trails’ distance and where they lead to.

“Oh, look,” Harry chirps, pointing to the wooden sign. “It’s not even that long! One and a half kilometres to the top - that’s doable.”

“Just wait until we pass one kilometre and your rucksack causes you to fall backwards and you tumble down the mountain, I mean, hill, and you end up at the bottom of a freezing lake,” I tell him. “I won’t be able to save you then, will I?”

“I really like how you fight until the end for the people you love,” Harry responds, his face the mirror of sarcasm. He continues in a lighter tone, “Anyways, off we go on our adventure!”

All of a sudden, he’s grabbing my wrist and dragging me away from where I was perfectly happy, analysing the cracks in the wood of the sign. We start along the middle hiking trail and my shoes are already covered in dust. He lets go of my wrist and as much as I miss the feeling of his warm skin on my own, I really don’t need him feeling my arm when it gets sweaty.

Five steps in and I already want to pass out. Great.

“Did you know that a lot of people die while climbing mountains,” Harry suddenly informs me as if that’s not an extremely disturbing fact. “Especially on Mount Everest.”

“Golly, gee,” I mutter listlessly. “What a fantabulous way to begin our journey.”

I whoop a couple of times sarcastically and nearly trip over a branch. Great going, Louis. You’re doing a marvellous job.

“It’s true,” Harry says. “In fact, I think it’s about six people per year. I wonder if people ever die while climbing this hill.”

I raise my eyebrows and blink a couple of times. “Wow, and just now you were trying to convince me that we aren’t going to die tonight.”

“I sure was!” Harry almost sings and I don’t know why he’s so happy or how he has so much energy after walking fifty metres uphill.

Come on, Louis. You can do it. Just. One. Thousand. Four. Hundred. And. Fifty. Metres. Left.

“If I die, will you please request a granite headstone for me?” I ask. “If I get a marble one, I’ll haunt you forever, and make sure the engraving is in dark silver, not gold.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Sure, although if anyone was to haunt me, at least it’s you and not some stranger.”

Why does that give me chills? Perhaps because we’re discussing fucking scary ghosts or maybe it’s because he’d prefer me to haunt him. Ha, I’d haunt him and I’d do a good job of it.

“And the engraving must say: In broken-hearted remembrance of Louis William Tomlinson, who was born on Christmas Eve and died far too young. Beloved brother, brother, brother, brother, son, best mate, bachelor, friend, acquaintance, stranger and enemy,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice serious amongst the joke. “The font must either be Cambria or Georgia from Google Docs.”

“Well, haven’t you got it all planned out,” Harry comments, plucking a leaf from a nearby bush as we pass it. He really shouldn’t be doing that because we mustn't leave any trace in such a precious environment. “You’ll have to write that down for me ‘cause I won’t be able to remember all of it amidst my misery.”

I scoff. “Your misery, you say? I’d advise against it.”

“Hey, don’t say that!” Harry exclaims and he shakes his head at me disapprovingly. “I’m allowed to be sad if you pass. In fact, I think I’d be proper heartbroken.”

He says that sentence in such a tone that I can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. It doesn’t sound sarcastic enough but yet, the pitch of his voice is higher than normal when he’s being genuine. Usually, his sincerity is conveyed by his deep and gruff voice.

“Well, you’d better see a surgeon, then,” I reply in an attempt to keep the conversation light-hearted.

I’m not sure if my effort pays off because Harry doesn’t reply, continuing to trek up the hill in silence. Occasionally, he stops to admire some flowers on the side, leaning down to smell them before beginning to walk again, nonchalantly, as if it’s perfectly normal to constantly stop and start during a hike.

I’ve never understood the hype around flowers. Most, if not all, of them, just look like colourful monsters without eyes and a nose - they almost remind me of fucking Teletubbies (even though they have eyes and noses, but they’re still monsters. How do kids even watch that show without having nightmares?). They’re kind of like lone mouths, sitting there innocently and waiting to devour me. A lot of people fall for their ‘pretty’ facade as well, spending unnecessary money on them and using them to decorate places. They don’t even smell nice either and they’ve also got insects running around everywhere - up, down, inside and outside of them. So overrated.

Harry seems to be one of those people who appreciates every aspect of life - nature, art, music, people, misfortunes, you name it. I highly regard his ability to be grateful for everything he has, even if things go wrong along the way and even if nothing works out in the end; he still continues to be thankful. It’s quite admirable. Right now, I can see it in his eyes that he’s taking in the beauty of the nature around us and recognising its value. He’s practically glowing… with sweat as well.

It’s not that I’m a stranger to being appreciative of things, it’s more like most things have little things that annoy the shit out of me so I can’t appreciate them. Nature, for example, is full of slugs and insects and spiders that scare me to death so if I don’t die from the lack of oxygen during this hike, I’ll probably end up dying from an earwig jump-scare. The thought of it makes my insides churn like a mess of slimy gears.

Even animals, like say… fish. Fish are practically just a head and a tail with pieces of skin sticking out the sides of their heads for fins. They have holes in their heads for gills and the most frightening eyes I’ve ever come across in my life. In order to move, they have to shimmy through water, almost as if they’re constantly shaking their arses (even though they don’t really have arses). On top of that, they pee in the water and then absorb that very same water into themselves. I don’t know how to appreciate a fish.

After we pass a relatively colossal tree, I approximate that we’ve completed about one-quarter of our journey, although I might be overestimating because we’re going uphill and that’s always more strenuous. But Harry is still radiant as he observes all the greenery. He looks quite deep in thought as he stares at a bird flying past us. 

“What’cha thinking about?” I suddenly think to ask, tilting my head to the side and eyeing him. 

Harry pauses for a second before breaking his gaze from the bird to look back at me. “Life.”

“Just life?” I question, with a raise of my eyebrow.

He nods simply and continues walking, his hands stuck in the pockets of this jacket. “It’s interesting, really, how many different forms of life exist.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to elaborate on that.”

He sighs but it’s not a disheartened sigh, it’s more like a sigh of being content and tranquil.

“Well, for us, as humans, the prime form of life is essentially us,” he begins and I try to take in as much as I can because I can tell that this is something he’s done some passionate and deep thinking about, “but there are so many other forms of life like plants and animals… even fungi and bacteria are forms of life, but we don’t really take notice of them.”

I stare up at the sky as I muse over his words and hum, scratching my head. “What’s your point?”

He shrugs, his face contorting into an expression of indifference.

“I’m not really sure…” he trails off, leaving me in a state of wondering more. It’s frustrating when you know that someone isn’t telling you what exactly it is that they’re thinking and they leave you halfway falling off a cliff-hanger just like that. He continues, “I just think it’s fatuous that humans are primarily the ones who cause all the complications in life.”

“How do you mean?” I question.

“We damage the environment, we kill animals both directly and indirectly, we have so many social issues… it’s just incredible how much trouble we cause,” he cerebrates, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Yeah, sure, there are deadly animals out there who attack humans but they can’t be held responsible for all the other problems we create for ourselves.”

“So, which people do you think are the cause of our issues?” I ask and I feel like I’m sitting through a philosophy class. At least it’s interesting and with someone that I enjoy chatting with.

“Impulsive people - people who don’t think before they speak, strongly-opinionated people and people who don’t bother to see things from every perspective,” he lists. “Proud people that have too big an ego to admit when they’re wrong and ignorant people, who are incredibly naive or just don’t know any better.”

“You’ve got quite a list there,” I comment and he nods.

“I know,” he replies, going all pensive again. “I just hope I don’t turn out like that.”

“I don’t think you will,” I tell him truthfully and he looks at me quizzically.

“Why do you say that?”

I shrug. “You’re a good person.”

He gives me an unimpressed look and before he even opens his mouth to speak, I can feel the sarcasm dripping from his voice. “What a very intricate way to describe me.”

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” I snicker. “If I say any more, your ego will grow higher than this hill.”

He pouts cutely, or cutely enough for a seventeen-year-old boy, “To be fair, that’s not very high at all. At least it’s not as high as Everest.”

I roll my eyes and give in.

“Whatever. Let me just take some to think of your good qualities and I’ll get back to you in a few years…” I trail off with a small smirk playing on my lips.

He reaches out to smack the back of my head. “Twat.”

“I feel like I’m about to do a whole personality analysis on you,” I say with a smile. “Let’s see here… I think the first thing most people notice about you is your charm but you’re so charming that they probably don’t realise that you’ve got them wrapped right around your finger. That could be an efficacious manipulation strategy, actually.”

“Wow,” Harry drawls. “You’re off to a flattering start by insinuating that I’m a manipulator.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” I chide, kicking at a branch on the ground that was clearly just about to trip me but I managed to attack first. “That was just a thought I had. Anyway, I think you’re also quite observant, which makes you notice passing details about people and that allows you to be more empathetic. I believe that’s quite a common trait amongst Aquarius’, being observant.”

“Why have you been reading about my star sign?” he asks, scrunching up his nose and I think he’s genuinely curious.

“I read a lot of things on the internet,” I reply and it sounds kind of suggestive but that really wasn’t my intention. “You’re a very laid-back kind of guy; easy to have a laugh and a chill conversation with, and that makes you seem amiable, so people want to be friends with you. You have a sense of humour that’s compatible with almost everyone, so that also adds on to being friendly.”

“You sound like a computer-generated personality test result paragraph,” he sniggers and I flip him off.

“Shut up, I’m being nice,” I snap playfully. “You’re a very caring person, so people feel safe, protected and loved when they’re with you. You mainly demonstrate that through speaking encouragements, the kind things you do for people and, um, physical touch.”

Gosh, I sound like one of those online what is my love language? test results..

He raises an eyebrow and steals a glance at me out of the corner of his eyes. “And do you know that from experience or…?”

I huff because I know he’s trying to wind me up. I don’t know what he’s expecting me to say but he’s not going to get a whole-ass love confession.

“Yes,” I mutter. “From experience, I do.”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” he questions.

I feel like I’m being dragged down into water and under an ice sheet so I can’t get out. I don’t consider it a bad thing that I’ve experienced Harry being caring and touchy with me. Just, admitting something that’s quite so intimate can lead to… things. Yeah, you know what I mean - I don’t want him to think that I’m suggesting things.

“It’s not. It’s not a bad thing at all,” I respond before clearing my throat hastily and continuing, “Anyway, whilst we’re on this tangent about bad things, I have recognised a flaw that needs to be addressed.”

“Okay?” he says, more like an expectant question than anything.

“You’re nice but you’re, like, way too nice,” I say. “You’re nice in that when someone isn’t being treated right, you stick up for them, defend them and protect them…”

“I’m sensing a but here,” he says hesitantly.

“But,” I begin, “you don’t do the same for yourself. You let people walk all over you and you don’t stick up for yourself. It’s kind of like you either don’t really care for yourself or you just don’t want to be problematic.”

Wise words from old Tommo, the owl. I don’t know where all these words are coming from but they’re somehow stringing themselves into coherent sentences in my head. They’re tumbling out of my mouth like I’ve rehearsed this a million times before. I haven’t, though, just to clarify.

Harry goes silent and suddenly stops walking. I halt abruptly in my tracks too, almost falling backwards and down the hill to my death. He turns to look at me through his thick, dark lashes, his eyes a darker shade of green that tells me he’s thinking deeply. His forehead is creased and he looks contemplative, almost, as if he’s trying to decide if what I said actually applies to him or not.

“Do I really do that?” he asks, his voice a little softer and gruffer than usual.

I involuntarily swallow under his piercing gaze and I nod. “Quite a bit, yeah.”

“Give me an example.”

I roll my head back in thought. “Last week, Nick called you a boring nerd for enjoying English class and you didn’t say anything about it and just accepted it as if it was okay for him to judge your interests like that.”

“Damn, you heard that?” he mutters under his breath, his eyes finding the ground.

“I was literally standing right next to you,” I tell him before adding, “and then you told me about it later.”

Harry’s eyes widen in realisation and he mutters, “Oh yeah, I forgot.”

I’m not sure whether it’s appropriate to have an extremely deep conversation while we’re in the middle of walking up a hill. I suppose it’d be more suitable to wait until our picnic to talk about this, so I try to lighten the mood by lightly slapping his arm and grinning cheekily. “Getting a bit old and forgetful here, are we?”

My scheme seems to work because the overly-thoughtful expression drops from his face and is replaced by a playful scowl.

“Oh, piss off, you,” he grumbles, shoving at my shoulder and starting to walk up the hill again.

I suddenly find myself having a burst of energy and I don’t know if it’s because the mood has lightened or because I managed to mock Harry successfully. Perhaps my hypothalamus has given up on regulating my usually-low energy level and has decided to do both Harry and me a favour by bumping it up a few notches.

I skip a few steps ahead of Harry with a bright smile on my face, still remembering to watch my step so I don’t fall and tumble down into a lake. I feel like I’m frolicking amidst a sea of beautiful nature (minus all the bugs and flowers) as my skin breathes in the refreshing, cold air that surrounds me. My spirits are high, which is a drastic change from how much I was whining and grumbling before. And that’s on being a moody teenager.

“What are you so happy about?” Harry asks me and I turn to look at him from a couple of metres ahead of him. His eyes are wide and curious and he’s got a small smile playing on his lips. “You look like Christmas has come early.”

I shrug and grin. “I don’t know. I’m just excited to reach the top and see the view.”

Harry turns his head in the direction of the descending sun and squints to peer at it through the trees. “It’s going to be dark by the time we reach there.”

“Even better!” I chirp and I can already imagine what I’m going to see - a high-angled view of the town that rests at the foot of the hill and the colourful lights of the city that lays further behind it. Maybe I could even try to spot my house. “We should have a race.”

He gives me an are you serious look as he pointedly jerks his thumb towards the rucksack that is still weighing down on his back.

“You have an unfair advantage,” he tells me, his words slow and deliberate. He adds, “Clearly.”

“Yeah, okay,” I reply mindlessly. “You can have a ten-metre headstart.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows and almost looks offended at my offer. “That’s barely any better!”

“You have long legs,” I argue back. “So, it’s even.”

“Hardly,” he mutters. I wait for him to continue but then he suddenly looks up at me with a mischievous twinkle in his green eyes and a smirk. “You just want me to start ahead of you so you can stare at my arse.”

My eyes widen dramatically and I shake my head like a maniac. I try to forcefully remind myself that Harry’s just joking with me but it’s no use. I can’t suppress the red and warmth that rises to my cheeks, nor can I stop myself from stuttering. Fuck, why am I like this?

“N-No,” I stammer, my wavering voice even daring to emphasise my lack of confidence. I inhale deeply to regain my composure and I cross my arms, clearing my throat and speaking more convincingly, “What arse, even?”

Harry blatantly rolls his eyes and continues walking up the hill until he falls into step with me. He reaches up to wrap his arm around my shoulders and I nearly shiver at the touch, even though it’s only our clothes that are touching.

“Your arse is big enough for the both of us,” he tells me, with a tone as if he’s confessing something, but I can still hear a hint of humour hidden there.

I grimace and reach up to pinch some of the skin on his wrist… hard. He yelps and instinctively whips his arm away from me. I restrain myself from grinning triumphantly.

“You are such a menace,” he scowls, rubbing the spot on his wrist that I pinched to soothe it. “I don’t know whether I should be concerned that I’m endangering my own life by being alone on an isolated mountain with you.”

“Aw, I love you, too,” I purr and I sound so sickeningly sweet that it almost makes my stomach churn.

“No, you love infuriating me,” he counters as he shakes his head.

I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him before crossing my eyes, making him laugh. I take a split second to admire the way his bright, green eyes light up and crinkle on the edges when he laughs. The way a contagious smile stretches on his face and he leans his head back, low chuckles reverberating from his chest. It causes an unintentional, small but fond smile to appear on my own face.

After that, we continue to trek up the hill in a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence and the sound of a choir of birds singing from afar. The sun is steady as it carries on with its descent, letting out less and less light by the minute. The plants and the trees around us keep getting darker as we get higher and I suppose it’d be a smart idea to whip out the torches now if I don’t want to stumble over a protruding branch or something. Nature is out to get me for thinking down on it earlier.

I have to say that I’m quite pleased that the slope of the path seems to flatten as we near the top because otherwise, I’d be out of breath and in need of CPR by now. The consistent bumps in the paths become smoother and all of a sudden, the dirt road fades into a small garden of green grass. We made it.

I rush over to the side of the grass where there’s a barrier, overlooking the view below us. It’s just as beautiful as I had imagined, if not even more beautiful. The town at the foot of the hill is partially lit up by the lights in occasional houses and behind that, the city glows a combination of different colours. Even beyond that, a forest stretches from either side of my vision and a large lake within it glistens orange, pink and purple. It’s really quite spectacular.

I look up to my side as Harry comes up next to me and places his hands on the rail as well. Even though the cicadas have already started screaming, I can still hear his deep, calming breaths, a little bit muffled by the wind. His long curls are blowing around in his head, quite majestically, I’d say, and he kind of looks like a fucking Disney prince.

“Wow,” he breaths, his eyes the picture of mesmerised. “It’s beautiful.”

I hum. “Yeah, it is. The sunset makes it even better.”

“Doesn’t it?”

I nod my head. “I didn’t know this place could be this pulchritudinous.”

Harry sighs and closes his eyes, leaning his head back and chuckling softly. “Oh God, please don’t start with that; you and your dictionary alter ego.”

I laugh lightly. “It really is beautiful… it’s amazing how dull it seems when you’re just an insignificant being in a town, but once you see it from another, higher perspective, it’s quite stunning.”

“It’s kind of like life, really,” Harry tells me and I’m beginning to feel like he’s going to go all philosophical on me again. He turns to me and nods his head towards the grass. “Come on, let’s have our picnic now.”

I nod and follow him towards a patch of grass that looks relatively green and healthy. Harry heaves his rucksack off of his shoulders and places it on the ground, flexing his back muscles after to stretch. I bite my lip. He proceeds to unzip one of the compartments and pulls out a bundled-up picnic blanket. He throws it to me and I’m caught a little bit off guard, catching it nonetheless.

“Unfold that, will you?” he mutters as he searches the bag’s million pockets to find whatever he’s looking for.

Wordlessly, I undo the bow that has been tied around the picnic blanket and I unfold it, laying it across the ground and flattening it. While I’m doing that, Harry suddenly appears by my side and places a bag of food in the centre of the blanket, along with two electronic candles on opposite sides that have already been turned on. One of them is tinted slightly green and the other has a faint blue tinge to it. I’m starting to get a little bit ambivalent about this picnic because it’s starting to seem more romantic…

Harry sits himself on one side of the blanket and begins to take some containers out of the bag, so I sit opposite him and fidget nervously as I wait for him. My heart is racing in my chest and I’m pretty sure it’s audible, even with all the background noise. When Harry tosses the bag behind him and out of our way, there are about four containers spread out in between us. They still have their lids on them but I can practically smell the delicious odours anyway.

“Did you cook all of this?” I ask, eyeing the food hungrily. My mouth is already watering even though I can’t actually see the food.

“Most of it,” he replies, handing me some cutlery. I take it gratefully as he eyes me. “I didn’t have a big enough pan for the crêpes.”

My eyes almost boggle out of my brain and my mouth gapes open, my mind unable to comprehend the sheer amount of effort he’s put into tonight. I’m more than touched if I’m being honest. I’m smitten. Harry is extremely familiar with me and my relationship with my crêpes. He knows that they’re my favourite dessert/breakfast (however you perceive it) and that I can’t live without them. I’m completely struck dumb that he’s gone as far as to cook me dinner, buy crêpes and lug a backbreaking rucksack containing an entire picnic up a mountain. You literally can’t get anyone more perfect than that.

I’m pretty sure a hundred flies have flown into my mouth by now.

“No…” I sputter, swallowing down the lump that has formed in my throat. I lean back on my hands and stare at him, my eyes still as wide as saucepans.

“Yes,” he replies simply, his expression nonchalant but his eyes full of emotion at the same time. I’m having difficulty decoding what he’s feeling right now. It doesn’t help that there’s barely any light apart from the electronic candles.

“You didn’t,” I almost swoon and I inhale deeply in disbelief, still gawking at him like he was the person who founded crêpes (whoever that was is a legend).

“I did.”

“No way,” I gasp as he tilts the container towards me and I catch a glimpse of the mouthwatering dessert inside. I begin to wonder how much of a sin it is to eat dessert before dinner.

Harry chuckles. “Don’t act so surprised, Lou. It’s common knowledge that you’re in love with crêpes. You might as well marry one.”

My eyes narrow and I look at him quizzically, a sardonic half-smile curling up on my face. “You sound like a five-year-old, you know that?”

“Well, as you said before, I have quite a flexible sense of humour that caters for everyone,” he says, maintaining a nonchalant expression throughout the whole sentence.

My mouth drops open before I quickly close it, not wanting anymore flies to enter it. Instead, I retract to just a simple scowl, trying to glare at him as piercingly as possible.

“I absolutely resent that,” I inform him. “I think you're the most loathsome person I’ve ever come across in my life.”

He shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. “Now, now, you can’t just go around saying those things to the person who’s providing you with dinner… and crêpes.”

“I can say whatever I want, thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome,” he sniggers, using my line from a few days back. He’s such a wanker!

I watch as he takes the lid off one of the containers, revealing a stack of sushi and I’m right on the brink of shapeshifting into a lion and devouring it all up. The next box contains a bunch of pizza scrolls and they give off a slight whiff of deliciousness. I can already taste it. The third container is filled to the brim with lasagna and now I’m wondering who this boy even is. What did I do to deserve him? Oh yeah, right. I don’t.

“Sushi, pizza scrolls, lasagna and then, crêpes,” he lists, pointing at each container and giving me a pointed look. But then, his voice goes quieter and shakes a little, “I hope it’s okay.”

I give him an are you serious look, hopefully conveying that I think he’s an absolute idiot for even the thought crossing his mind that I wouldn’t be okay with it. The insecurity washes away from his eyes almost immediately.

“You’re crazy. You’re absolutely crazy if you think I wouldn’t be okay with this,” I tell him, gesturing to all the food before us. “Before we arrived, I really was expecting us to just come up here and go back down but this… this is such a pleasant surprise. Styles, you’ve outdone yourself yet again. I can’t wait to taste all of it!”

I give him a small, encouraging smile as a wide grin breaks out on his face, almost to the point that he’s beaming. His eyes seem to shine even brighter when it’s dark than when it’s daytime.

“Alright, then, dig in!” he tells me and I immediately go for the sushi because there’s no better time to enjoy Japanese cuisine than when you’re sitting on top of a hill at night. Well, actually, Japanese cuisine is wonderful all the time, but under the current circumstances, it just feels right at this moment.

I never know why Harry ever has any doubts about his cooking tasting like perfection because everything he’s made that I’ve tasted has been absolutely and positively delicious. This is no exception. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud in heaven.

“Have you ever considered becoming a chef?” I question, swallowing and going for a pizza scroll. It’s an honest question because Harry is genuinely far too talented to let his cooking skills go to waste.

He shrugs as he chews on a piece of sushi. “I’ve thought about it. Not too much, though.”

“Well, if you ever become one, I’ll be your most frequent customer,” I tell him. “I’ll live there, in fact.”

He lets out a laugh. “I commend you for being willing to support small businesses,” he pauses. “I’m not sure what field I’m going to go into… I might try law, maybe.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Going straight for the top, are you?”

He nods. “I’m still debating.”

“Ah,” I begin, now fully grasping his situation. “It’s always the smart ones that are the most indecisive ‘cause they have too many options to choose from.”

“Hey, don’t say that as if you’re not smart!” he chides.

I try not to react to the compliment and I brush it off, fighting it with humour instead. “You going to list all my wonderful qualities now, then?”

He looks up at me through his lashes. “Maybe,” he says. “We’d be here all night.”

Damn him from causing me to crack and making me react to his approbations! Only he would persist at complimenting me until my cheeks set on fire and my tongue ties into a double knot. Maybe, tonight, he’ll even go as far as to make my heart burst right out of my chest.

“Maybe we can save it for another time,” I suggest, once again using my stealthy ninja skills to covertly deflect the conversation away from myself.

“Maybe,” he repeats, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky.

By now, the sun has already fully set and the moon is beginning to rise, bringing out the stars with it. I have to say, under the moonlight, Harry looks like a god. He looks amazing. I cross my legs on the picnic mat, leaning my elbows on my knees and resting my face in my hands. I continue to stare at Harry as he observes the night sky.

“Aren’t they amazing? The stars?” he wonders aloud and I follow his gaze up to one of the constellations. “They’re literally balls of hydrogen and helium, and aren’t even alive, yet they still shine like they are.”

“Yeah?”

His gaze lingers on the sky a little longer before his eyes travel down to meet mine and I feel like he’s staring straight into my soul.

“They’re kind of like an example for humans to follow,” he muses. “They create their own light through nuclear reactions deep inside of them and the hydrogen converting into helium gives off energy, which produces heat and causes them to shine. In the same way, humans need to have realisations about themselves and go through some sort of a process in order to create positive energy and become truly happy so they can be a light for others.”

It hits me like a truck, his explanation, and I almost feel like Regina George when she was hit by the bus. His words are philosophical and they sink deeper into me, far more than he probably intended them to. It’s only the truth, the way in which humans need to experience hardships and turmoil in order to grow. The way that it’s vital for us to make realisations about ourselves, other people and life before we can find true happiness.

I tilt my head in rumination, my eyes setting upon a few trees that stand tall behind and to the left of Harry. Perhaps, his analogy hits a little bit too close to home.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he comments the axiomatic. “What’s going through your head?”

I slowly remove my gaze from the trees and focus it back on Harry.

I shrug. “Just thinking about what you said. It’s true… very true.”

“You think?” he questions, raising an eyebrow. Then, he drops his hands in his lap as if he’s an attentive student listening to a teacher. “Then, tell me, Louis William Tomlinson. Are you happy right now?”

My mind immediately flashes back to the past couple of weeks and my memories come to a halt when the one of me crying in my bed after buying the homophobic book appears. Who am I kidding? I don’t even know what the real meaning of happiness is. I don’t know if it even corresponds with having freedom but I only know that if I was able to live out and proud, I’d definitely be slightly happier at least.

I suppose happiness really involves the fulfilment of a combination of things but I don’t believe that it’s possible for anyone to check all the boxes and be completely and utterly happy. Being completely satisfied is something that doesn’t and will never exist for anyone. Even a person who has everything they could ever dream of (like a mansion, a lamborghini or the newest phone) could still be the loneliest person in the world, and the person with the most amount of friends could still feel like all the bonds are too weak for them to confide in someone. I guess happiness really doesn’t come in the form of materialistic items or the quantity of anything, huh.

I think over it for a second - I have a decent house and a bunch of siblings and friends, so I’m never quite lonely. Food is provided for me every day and I have enough clothes to wear. I should be satisfied, right? Wrong. On the flip side, I still have millions of secrets bottled up inside of me - secrets that don’t affect other people but will still be judged by them. Secrets that I can’t tell my family, even though I literally share blood and DNA with them. However, if I’m not able to let out my secrets and liberate myself, is it even possible for me to ever be truly happy?

So, now, I have come to the conclusion that fear completely overrides happiness. Fear is the single, strongest thing that has the ability to control how happy someone is. Fear is like the big boss on the spectrum of emotions because it has so many facets to it. On one hand, fear is beneficial because it makes you protect yourself and be careful so you don’t get hurt. On the other hand, it causes you to restrict yourself from doing certain things because it makes you worried or anxious about judgement and rejection. Fear is essentially an angel and a demon mixed into one - a dangel.

“You’ve gone quiet again,” Harry speaks up softly, his eyebrows furrowed like he’s trying to analyse me. I snap out of my daydream to focus my attention back onto him. “You look like you’re contemplating life. What’s up?”

I sigh, mildly (but not extremely) irritated that he knows practically everything about me along with the fact that he can read me like I’m a children’s book. If it’s that easy for him, I might as well wear a face-covering whenever I’m around him.

“I’m thinking about how to answer your question,” I tell him truthfully and he nods slowly. I blink. “Are you looking for honesty?”

I watch as his face falls ever so slightly and I can tell that he’s already figured out what I’m trying to say. I kick myself for being so obvious.

“You’re not happy,” he deadpans, observing me carefully. If it was anyone other than Harry, I’d feel extremely uncomfortable under scrutiny like this. In fact, I am a little uncomfortable under his gaze.

“No one’s completely happy,” I mumble, wondering if less attention will be drawn to my words if I speak softer and don’t enunciate as much.

“Why?” he asks.

Oh. It’s time for that question now.

I exhale loudly before I speak. “I don’t want you to think that I’m really unhappy… it’s just little things that annoy me. But everyone has things that get on their nerves. I’m sure you have some in your life.”

Harry clenches his jaw for a split second before he relaxes again. He places his hands underneath his chin as his dark, green orbs bear into my blue ones. “What’s bothering you?”

He doesn’t say it in a pushy way but I still will myself to keep my secrets concealed. No one other than myself needs to be involved in my problems, especially Harry. He’s already got a burden of a thousand kilos weighing his shoulders down. He doesn’t need any more.

I grit my teeth together, contemplating whether I should come clean to him or attempt to lie convincingly. I can’t risk my secrets escaping my mouth and ruining something but at the same time, I don’t want to lie to him about something so serious when he’s asking a genuine question and demonstrating how much he cares. I finally decide that the best way to go about this is to tell him the truth but make it cryptic and explain it in a more convoluted and indirect way.

“Just people in general, I think,” I say, shrugging to make it seem like less of a deal. “People being invasive and judgemental. People being close-minded and only seeing things from one perspective. People being self-righteous and strongly opinionated. You mentioned it before, that these are the types of people who cause problems in the world.”

“No shit.” He laughs dryly before his face goes serious again. “But seriously… is there someone in particular who’s bothering you. I’ll kick their sorry arse all the way to Pluto.”

I laugh for real as I envision the image of Harry kicking a person like a soccer ball but then I resume my staring at him wistfully.

“No one in particular; social issues involve groups of people.” I lie this time because it’s unnecessary for me to disclose names but then I pause in my tracks… I can trust Harry, right? Perhaps, if I only let something small slip, he’ll just say something encouraging, move on and forget about it. So, I decide to let him a bit further into my mind but because my brain is stupid, I somehow, accidentally spill way more than I originally intended. “My mum made me buy a homophobic book a few days ago.”

Immediately, I realise what I’ve just blurted out and my eyes widen in shock. I curse myself and repeatedly mentally facepalm my forehead. Why can my mouth not fucking stay shut?! Harry looks quite surprised as well, with his eyebrows higher on his forehead than usually and his lips parted slightly. He looks almost quizzical as he blinks a few times, his eyes refocusing on me again.

“What?” he questions. “What do you mean?”

I sigh and fight the urge to curl up into a ball with my head in my hands and bury myself in a hole. Well, I guess now that I’m here, there’s no turning back.

I swallow. “On Friday, after the theme park, she texted me to go to one of the Christian bookstores to buy a book titled Why It Is A Sin To Be Gay.”

I almost spit that title out and I feel sick to the stomach for using the words sin and gay in the same sentence. I can only look up meekly at Harry and hope he doesn’t jump to any conclusions.

“Well, did you read it?” he asks finally, after a brief pause.

I shake my head skittishly. “No. I threw it across my room and it’s catching dust now.”

Harry only shakes his head and shoots me a sympathetic look. “I think it’s quite petty, actually, to force an opinion on someone. An opinion on gay people isn’t like maths; it’s not legally mandatory to make you read a book about it. Opinions should be formed by a person themself, I think, not by force.”

A wave of relief washes over me that he understands what I’m trying to say and I’m so, so grateful that he’s not assuming anything about me based on my obvious distaste for the homophobic book - well, I can’t exactly see what he’s thinking but if he’s making any judgements, at least he’s not voicing them.

I sigh again. “It’s just… look, I hate to make generalisations but you and I are both from Christian households and were raised in a church, and many Christians grow up either having no exposure to gay people or learning that it’s a sin from day one. It irritates me so much because now that I know better, I have to unlearn everything I’ve learnt previously, like not to judge and such…”

He nods slowly and looks down, fiddling with some loose fluff on the blanket. “I’m on exactly the same page as you are, I think. Some Christians, not all, just use the Bible as an excuse to hate on gay people and it just, you know, breaks my heart because isn’t the central message of the Bible to love everyone?”

I make a noise of agreement and stay silent as I wait for him to continue and elaborate more.

“And I don’t want to talk shit on people’s perceptions and stuff but some people interpret certain verses completely different to the way I do, and maybe you as well,” he says slowly, his voice dragging along as he thinks through his words carefully. “Like, you can’t just look at a verse that says women had unnatural sexual relations and immediately conclude that it’s referring to lesbianism. There are many, many other types of ‘unnatural’ sexual relations, I should think.”

I let my gaze fall down to one of the candles on the side that has begun to flicker.

“I totally agree,” I tell him. “I don’t recall where this is from but I remember something about how some verses that referenced homosexuality were translated… questionably, and actually refer to same-sex pedophilia, like a boy and a man type of thing.”

Harry nods. “I heard that somewhere as well. I don’t know… I just don’t think people should meddle with other people’s sexualities and lives in the first place. It’s not their business so it’s kind of an invasion of privacy.”

I raise my eyebrows and inhale the fresh air deeply, my thoughts immediately pointing towards my mother and the way she has sort of tried to instil homophobia within me. It’s really not a great feeling when you realise that you’ve been believing lies for your whole life.

“I kind of want to burn the book…” I confess, looking up at Harry sheepishly. He doesn’t react to my words much, only nodding in understanding slightly. “Okay, honestly, I don’t usually care much for other people’s opinions and beliefs because those are their own things but when they shove it in your face, that’s a different story altogether.”

“Uh huh,” Harry says. “I can think of one person who does that.”

I look at him knowingly.

“Nick,” we voice at the same time and we both chuckle lightly after.

I furrow my eyebrows. “I’m not sure if he’s kind of ignorant or something because a few weeks ago, he told me that he thinks people only say they’re gay because they want to be cool… you know, fit in with the popular kids.”

Harry laughs wryly.

“He does realise that no one actually dreams of being part of a minority that’s heavily and constantly discriminated against, right?” he asks and I shake my head.

I press my lips together in a flat line and drawl, “You don’t say.”

He scoffs and continues, “Lad needs to educate himself first before talking about it. I know for a fact that he believes that straight and gay are the only sexualities that exist.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, innit?” I scoff. “If he thinks gay people are just straight people who want to be cool, then gay people don’t exist either.”

“My mistake,” Harry rolls his eyes before reaching out to grab the container of crêpes and taking the lid off of it, angling it towards me. “You want some? I know you’ve been waiting all evening to eat the only food that I didn’t make.”

I shake my head with a laugh, taking one of the crêpes from the container carefully so I don’t break it or anything.

“You’re cooking was absolutely delightful as always, Chef Styles. There can be no wrong done when it’s you and some ingredients in a kitchen,” I tell him, taking a bite of the crêpe and closing my eyes in contentment as the familiar, sweet taste consumes my mouth. “This, however, is just as amazing.”

Harry chuckles fondly. “You and your crêpes. I’m sure crêpe businesses are extremely grateful for your contributions to their customer satisfaction rating.”

“If you have a restaurant next time,” I begin, my mouth slightly full as I speak, “I expect a variety of crêpe options on the dessert menu… actually, I want them to be on all parts of the menu - appetiser, main, dessert and drink menu.”

“Is that a threat?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

“Yes,” I state flatly. “You will not be able to commend me for supporting small businesses ‘cause there’s no point in supporting something if they don’t serve crêpes.”

Harry shrugs. “Guess you won’t be going to any fast-food chains in the future, then.”

I scrunch my face up. “I can go to IHOP.”

“That’s in the US, love,” he tells me. “I don’t think you’d want to spend every night on a plane.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Sounds like a good escape from here to me.”

Harry just shoots me a meaningful look and it tells me that he understands.

***

Descents are usually supposed to be quicker than ascents but finding our way back down the hill took quite a while, or at least it seemed so. Harry had ever-so-responsibly brought us both torches, as well as a spare torch in case one of the batteries burned out. Luckily none of that happened. However, the torches barely managed to light up enough of our path so we were forced to go extra slow and carefully, as to not trip on anything.

Of course, my clumsy ass still managed to trip a couple of times and at one instance, I was a centimetre away from face planting into the earth - the earth that’s made up of unsanitary dirt and that’s infested with all kinds of disgusting insects. Yep, if my face had made it to the ground, that would’ve been absolutely delightful... not. Fortunately, my knight in shining armour, Harry, came to the rescue of his damsel in distress, just in time, by wrapping his arm around my waist and holding me steady.

My brain tends to romanticise insignificant events that happen to me in order to make me feel somewhat better about myself. Harry’s arm around my waist had sent my stomach flipping for the horizontal bar gold medal at the Olympics. It had been magical, almost, and extremely gentle, the way he was holding me, even though I was practically leaning on his arm for dear life. I had felt quite protected at that moment.

We arrive at the bottom of the hill when the moon is approximately one-fifth of the way across the sky. Under the light of that ball of igneous rock, I notice that the car park is completely empty, aside from Harry’s parents’ car, which sticks out like a sore thumb as it’s right in the middle of the open space. We head towards it and Harry tosses his rucksack, which, luckily for him, became significantly lighter after our picnic, in the backseat. I get into the passenger’s seat and Harry appears in the driver’s soon after.

He starts the engine and drives extremely slow out of the car park (kind of like how he talks), to the point that I almost want to rip the steering wheel out of his hands and drive in reckless circles on the road. Harry would never let me drive because he knows how careless and awful I am at it. I suppose I shouldn’t really trust myself to drive anywhere either. Public transport and Harry as my personal chauffeur are both gems.

“Do you mind if I turn the radio on?” he asks me out of the blue and I wonder if radios even run at this time.

“Go for it.”

He pushed the button and immediately, the car is filled with the fucking Rihanna song, Only Girl (In The World). If I’m being honest, I’m kind of getting sick of it because it’s literally being played everywhere and at all times. However, it reminds me that I still have to give that cup I bought to Harry. It’s probably lonely, sitting on my shelf all alone.

Harry and I don’t talk for the remainder of the car ride because we’re both equally as exhausted and we’ve already done enough talking for the day. Don’t get me wrong, it’s quite impossible for me to get bored when chatting with him, but my mouth is just tired from moving so much. As well as that, my throat is dry and my eyelids are droopy. It’s safe to say that I’m very ready to collapse on my bed as soon as I drag myself up to it.

It’s past my abnormal curfew when my house comes into view and none of the lights are on, so I assume that everyone has gone to sleep (I don’t know why they all go to sleep before 10:30 pm). Harry comes to a slow right next to the front lawn and the music stops abruptly, with a slight crackle, when he turns off the engine. We get out of the car at the same time.

I don’t know why all of our laddy lad night outs always somehow end with us standing outside of my house, exchanging sweet thank you’s and embracing each other, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Yes, being in such a close proximity to him with his gaze set on me and the sensation of his soft lips on my forehead mean that much to me.

This time, I don’t find us walking all the way to the porch before we say goodbye to each other. Instead, I wait outside the passenger’s door and watch closely as Harry comes around, leaning again the side of the car and looking at me intently. He’s got a sort of expression on his face that I can’t decipher but it doesn’t radiate negative energy, so it doesn’t bother me too much.

He continues staring at me wordlessly and I feel my mouth begin to dry up. I swallow and look back at him quizzically, tilting my head to the side.

“What?” I ask when I feel like the silence has lasted long enough and is becoming too overbearing.

He seems to snap out of his daydream when his eyes blink a few times but he just continues staring at me, his expression soft and unrelenting.

“Nothing,” he finally says, looking at the ground and pressing his lips together before looking back up at me. “Just wanted to thank you for, you know, doing this with me even though you probably had better things-“

I raise my hand and cut him off. “Haz, even though I could’ve easily been eaten alive by a mountain goat, I had a great time and you cooked dinner. I assure you, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

I’m aware that I’m being overly sentimental but it’s worth it because the sides of Harry’s lips curl upwards and his eyes brighten quite a lot.

“I’m glad you did, Lou, I am...” he trails off, closing his mouth and reopening it, pausing as if he’s contemplating what to say next. “Can you please do something for me?”

I furrow my eyebrows at the strange request but agree to it anyway. “‘course.”

He looks me right in the eyes, his green orbs piercing. “I want you to continue to keep your head up and stand up for what you believe. It’s okay to have a different opinion to someone, you know? As long as you look at it from every perspective before forming a conclusion, you should see your opinion as valid, okay? Can you do that?”

It’s kind of foreign to me to hear a request like that but I nod anyway. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try my best.”

He reaches out his hand to grab mine and intertwines our fingers. The shivers run up and down my spine as he squeezes in reassurance.

“I believe in you,” he tells me with a small smile and I nearly melt right then and there.

I lift my other arm up and wrap it around the back of his neck, pulling him a little bit closer to me, but still a safe distance away. I search his eyes for even just a hint of insincerity but I don’t find anything within the green.

“What would I do without you?” I find myself whispering aloud to myself and even though the cicadas are chirping loudly around us, I can still hear myself loud and clear as day. I hope he can too because on my end, the world has stopped in time.

Harry only lets out a low chuckle. “I could say the same for you.”

My lips curve into a sort of lop-sided smile and my eyes begin to get a bit glassy. It’s not often that I make a move on anyone but this time, my body does it for me involuntarily. I lean up on my tiptoes and bring his head closer to me so I can press a chaste kiss to his cheek (because I’ll admit, I’m far too short to even think about reaching his forehead). His skin is soft and my lips linger there for a second too long before I pull away, a nervous smile on my face.

I’m not sure whether I should meet his eyes or not so I decide to look at his glabella instead. Though his mouth is unfocused in my vision, I can sort of make out a smile forming. He squeezes my hand again before letting go and I immediately miss the feeling of his hand in mine.

“Goodnight, Lou,” is what he says next and it’s only then that I realise how weary his eyes look. They’re still bright and full of life, nonetheless.

“Night, H,” I say, unwrapping my arm from around his neck and taking a step back before turning on my heel and trudging up to the door. Harry’s still leaning against the car when I find my keys and I give him a small wave, receiving a smile in return.

I twist open the doorknob and enter the house, shutting the door behind me and lean ing my back against it, just like I had done a mere couple of days ago. My eyes flutter shut as the corners of my lips curl upwards.

There are a lot of things that I hate in life, but now I know for sure that Harry Styles is all the way on the other end of the spectrum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the people who commented on my last chapter, I really appreciate it !


	5. Zayn’s Diagnosis and a Horrible Sermon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn has bad news for Louis and Louis sits through a sermon about homosexuality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of anorexia but not described in much detail, homophobic language.
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not an expert in the topic of eating disorders so I apologise in advance if anything I say is incorrect.

The next week flies by as fast as a Peregrine Falcon and nothing too special or eventful happens. School is still the same, old prison where we get more lectures about not talking during class than the actual information we’re supposed to be learning. The only remotely interesting thing that happens is when one of the guys on the football team gets into a fistfight with another kid that I’d never even heard of before then. Long story short, they both get suspended and the principal gives the whole cohort a long disquisition about how violence is not the answer. 

Harry and I continue to be the best of friends, chatting and cracking jokes until we laugh our heads off. I find it quite funny and strangely pleasing that we  _ always _ have something to talk about and there are barely any instances where we sit in awkward silence. With that being said, I constantly feel like I’ve hit the jackpot for almost a decade straight because not everyone can find a friend like Harry.

Zayn is absent on Friday because according to Liam, he went to a party the night before and got, in his words, ‘proper pissed, to the point that he couldn’t walk at all’. The lads and I just shrug it off because Zayn’s character has always been quite enigmatic and so there’s not really any use predicting what he’s going to do next - he’s very introverted and likes to keep to himself but at the same time, he goes to quite a lot of parties that take place in houses that are filled to the brim with people. I can only guess that he only goes to the parties to get wasted. 

Saturday rolls around soon enough and as usual, I have absolutely nothing to do. It’s ten in the morning and I am still in my bed, wrapped like a burrito by my blanket. I know I should get out at some point and do something productive, but I’m far too warm to bring myself to do that. I try to daydream about something pleasant but  _ clearly _ , I can’t daydream in peace because as soon as a thought pops up in my head, my door bursts open and a finger starts prodding into my side.

“Ow!” I exclaim as the person jabs their finger into my ribs, causing a stinging sensation to shoot through my body.

“Lou, Lou, Lou!” the unmistakable voice of Lottie chants as she continues to poke me. “Hurry up!”

I roll over onto my back slowly and reluctantly remove the covers from on top of my face, only to be met with two, large, blue eyes staring back at me, about five centimetres away from my face.

“What,” I grumble, my eyes already starting to droop as sleep calls back to me.

Lottie (thankfully) stops jabbing into my side and sits herself on my desk chair, gazing at me with an imploring expression, as if she’s trying to convince me to do something with only her eyes.

“I need help,” she tells me seriously, the whine in her voice suddenly disappearing.

She sort of looks troubled so I quickly scramble to remove my covers and sit up so I look like I’m at least making an effort to pay attention to her.

“I’m all ears,” I tell her.

She takes a deep breath and then exhales, her shoulders slumping and her face falling immediately. Her eyes are not as wide anymore and they’re filled with something like… contemplation and confusion. This must be serious.

“Well, the thing is…” she pauses, trailing off before she looks up and meets my eyes. I furrow my eyebrows and wait. “I have a crush on someone.”

I’m not sure if that was supposed to hit me like a ton of brick but it does. Lottie is eleven years old, the time of a pre-teens life when everyone’s obsessed over crushes and whatnot. I ask myself why I didn’t expect this conversation before.

“Okay…” I say slowly, calculating my words carefully so I don’t say anything wrong. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

She shoots me a mildly annoyed look that tells me that I’m not helping her at all.

“Nothing,” she states, her tone flat and it has a slight edge to it. “Mum says I can’t date until uni. She says I’m too young to give in to ‘temptation’.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the word  _ temptation _ because it’s such a prominent word in a house like ours, but I have to set a good example so Lottie doesn’t think she can fool around and do whatever she wants. She’s eleven, for Christ’s sakes! I don’t need her to have a better love life than me when I’m seven years older than her!

Lottie continues, “I don’t even know what she means by ‘temptation’.”

My mind goes blank and completely freezes at that. What the  _ hell _ am I supposed to say to that? Explain to her that ‘when people kiss, they get hornier so they crave sex and end up fucking each other’? By now, after living with four younger sisters for years, I should know how to elucidate things with enough censorship to keep their minds innocent but this has always been quite a taboo topic, so I’m not so sure how to go about it.

“Well, um… she, uh, wants you to be, you know…  _ pure _ for the right person,” I manage to cough out, my voice lower and more gravelly than usual. Gosh, this is not an appropriate conversation for when I’ve just woken up. “You know, the person you’ll marry…”

I can tell that Lottie still needs more of an explanation to fully understand what I mean because she tilts her head to the side as she muses over my words. 

“Are you, you know… pure?” she questions steadily and I nearly choke on the air I’m breathing.

I gape at her with wide eyes and I feel like burrowing a hole in the ground and staying there, hidden, forever.

“Uh… yes… I think,” I manage to splutter out, wishing I was  _ anywhere _ else but here. Remind me why I’m having this conversation with an  _ eleven _ -year-old.

She seems to ponder over my words even more, her eyes travelling to the wall behind me. There’s nothing interesting about my plain, white wall but at this point, the conversation could not get any more uncomfortable.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?” she asks suddenly and I nearly choke for the second time in a row.

I am in  _ so _ much pain.

I wonder whether I should lie to her and just get on with my fabulous Saturday or if I should tell her the truth and be interrogated for the rest of the morning. Lottie would be elated if I was to come clean and admit that I have a crush on someone and she’d badger me about the person to no end. Yeah… that would not be a fun situation to get myself into… but then again, I already feel guilty for even considering lying to her.

“Well, yes…” I swallow thickly, refusing to meet her inquisitive eyes, which widen at my words.

“You do?” she gasps, her face lighting up and her mouth hanging open. I’m really considering fleeing to Australia right now. “Who?”

I shift uncomfortably on my bed and fiddle with my fingers, the back of my neck heating up in unease.

“Um… I can’t tell you that,” I mumble as if by speaking softer, she wouldn’t hear me and would forget that we’re in the middle of a conversation.

She gives me a pointed look, telling me that she’s not planning on giving up anytime soon.

“Is it someone I know?” she presses.

I’ll be sacrificed alive if she knew and ratted me out to my parents. She can’t know, they can’t know, no one can know.

“Maybe…” I answer vaguely, my hands beginning to sweat anxiously.

She narrows her eyes, a cunning glimmer appearing within the blue. “It’s that Eleanor girl, right? The one from church?”

Excuse me? What?! I frown and look at her incredulously, my mouth falling open in horror. “Whatever gave you  _ that _ idea?!”

She shrugs and replies defensively, “I don’t know! She’s, like, the  _ only _ girl I’ve ever seen you talk to!”

Ah, of course, I shouldn’t have forgotten that we were raised in a very heteronormative culture.

I sigh and run a hand through my messy bed-hair, looking up at Lottie wearily. “Look, we can have this conversation later. I have some homework to do.”

The false excuse rolls off my tongue easily like it’s second nature. Lottie shoots me a look of disapproval and annoyance, and disappears from my room wordlessly. I know for a fact that she’s going to come back with more questions later but by then, hopefully, I’ll be prepared with an extensive deposit of believable lies

I flop back down on my bed, my hair sprawling messily on my pillow and my limbs going limp in relaxation. A sigh escapes my throat and I rub my eyes to get the fatigue out of them. It hasn’t even passed midday yet and I’m already sick of this Saturday.

Now that Lottie’s gone, I can finally have my daydream and my thoughts travel to the  _ what if _ part of my mind. I wonder what it’d be like to be able to live in a free world that’s full of peace and completely void of judgement. What if everyone was happy to be equal and no one fought for power by pushing other people down below them. What if people lived innocently, their minds empty of the unjust social norms that we have today, and instead were open-minded.

I nearly scoff at myself because I know that I’m dreaming about the impossible. I’ve imagined every possible scenario after I somehow gain the courage to come out of my family and there’s only one good outcome.

I imagine the words  _ I’m gay _ falling out of my mouth and reaching my parents’ ears. I stand there, fiddling with the hems of my shirt as they take a few seconds to comprehend what I’m saying. A few moments later, they don’t say anything to me when their faces break into a smile and they stand up. They open their arms out to me and I run straight into them, joyful tears streaming down my cheeks as they envelop me with support, protection and acceptance.

At this point, that outcome only resides in the smallest figment of my imagination because I’ve almost completely lost all hope. There is absolutely  _ no _ way my parents would react like that.

A slightly more likely situation would start off with my whole family sitting at the table having a casual and light conversation about how our days went. Mum will begin talking about how she saw a gay couple when she was at the shops and start advising the girls to avoid sinful people like that. I’ll deal with it for a while before it becomes too much and I accidentally slip out an  _ I’m gay _ in the midst of my argument. The whole table goes silent for approximately ten seconds before Mum clears her throat and starts asking Fizzy about how she did on her English test. From then on, everyone will passively ignore my little slip but will still be on edge around me, as if I have some sort of disease.

I can’t help but feel like that would be a more likely outcome - where no one speaks of my confession ever again but Mum continues to make adverse remarks about gay people.

The third outcome occurs when I’m chilling in the living room, my nose stuck in a book. I’m minding my own business but suddenly, Mum sits down next to me on the couch and asks me what I’m reading. I truthfully reveal to her that I’m reading a book about a lesbian couple trying to navigate life in the 1930s. She gives me a look of disapproval before taking the book out of my hands and closing it, not bothering to bookmark where I was up to. She gives me a strict lecture about how I shouldn’t be feeding contagious, sinful gay thoughts into my brain because otherwise I’ll be influenced to think that  _ gay is okay _ . I roll my eyes at her and tell her that I can’t be influenced anyway because  _ I’m gay _ . Her face drops and she narrows her eyes, her voice steely and cold as she demands me to get out.

While this, unfortunately, is something that happens to far too many people when they come out to their parents, I strongly doubt that my parents would actually kick me out. That’d ruin their reputation too much.

The fourth scenario is this - I’m standing in the living room, arguing with my parents about why I support same-sex marriage, even though it  _ apparently _ opposes the Bible. Their biting remarks take a stab to my heart and suddenly, I’ve had enough. My face goes bright red and I suppress every urge in me that wants me to scream. I’ve embodied the emotion of anger and my parents go silent, staring at me as I try to compose myself. Suddenly, every ounce of energy within me disappears and I can only manage to whisper a faint  _ I’m gay _ before I hear a loud smack, my cheek begins to sting and my vision goes black.

Again, don’t believe that this denouement is likely to occur because my parents aren’t typically violent people. However, I don’t think I should form any conclusions yet because I don’t know what they’re capable of.

The last potential outcome begins with me keeping to myself and doing my homework in my bedroom when Mum knocks on the door and I tell her that she can come in. She sits down on my bed and briefly asks me about how my science project is going before going off on a tangent about how eloquent and meaningful Sunday’s sermon about homosexuality being a sin was. I quickly get annoyed at her and she asks me what’s wrong before I crack and raise my voice to tell her that  _ I’m gay _ . She doesn’t lash out at me or anything but a week later, she comes into my room again to recite Bible verses relating to homosexuality. She’ll continue to express her disapproval by doing that until I’m old enough to move out.

This last option is probably the outcome that I deem most likely to happen because I’m pretty sure that my parents wouldn’t kick me out or start abusing me (it’s against the Bible) but at the same time, I’m positive that they won’t let it slide without attempting to persuade me not to be gay.

I let a frustrated puff out of my mouth because all my thoughts lead back to the same thing - if I ever get the courage to come out to my parents, they would never accept or support me because it goes against all their beliefs. I have lost all hope that they will end up changing their minds because they have been homophobic for decades and habits can take a lifetime to break.

I blink a couple of times to get rid of my thoughts but as soon as I close my eyes, my ears pick up the sound of my phone vibrating on my desk. With an aggravated huff, I begrudgingly roll over onto my side so I can feel around my desk for the device. I finally locate it and grab it in my hand, tapping the accept button without bothering to look at the caller ID. At this point, it doesn’t matter who’s calling me because absolutely nobody can possibly improve my mood. 

“Hello?” I speak into the microphone, my voice a little raspier than usual.

“Louis, hey…” I can immediately tell that it’s Zayn from his accent and I have to admit that I’m quite surprised by his call. I can’t recall a time when he called me instead of texting me one-word messages. “How are you?”

I knit my eyebrows together at the hint of hesitance in his voice. He sounds as if he’s carefully letting every word go through a machine that filters the appropriate words from the inappropriate words before he says them.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I reply, still utterly confused as to why he’s calling me. I ask him the same question for good measure, “How are you?”

“I’m… I’m alright, I guess…” he falters but it doesn’t sound genuine at all. It more so sounds like he’s forcing the words out of his mouth unwillingly.

There’s a pause on the other end of the line and I realise that Zayn isn’t going to inform me about why he’s calling me until I ask.

“So, um, what’s up?” I inquire slowly, wondering if something bad might happen if I speak too overbearingly fast.

A sigh sounds through my speakers and I suddenly feel horrible for questioning why he’s calling because he sounds incredibly stressed and nervous.

“Well, uh… y-you’re probably finding it strange that I’m calling you b-but I thought you should know because… because you’re one of my best mates and you know, it’s always better to say important things over the phone rather than through text,” he rambles, chuckling trepidatiously at the end. “I, um…”

He trails off again and I can practically hear him swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Zayn, take your time but you can tell me anything, you know that, right?” I reassure him, my voice going surprisingly soft. I guess he needs a soothing tone right now.

“Y-Yeah, I do, um…” he stammers before he blurts it out hastily, “I-I’m in the hospital.”

My eyes, no longer tired, widen dramatically and the other end of the line goes so silent that the drop of a pin would be the equivalent of a jet engine. My mouth runs dry and my brain somehow forgets how to process words as well as string together a simple sentence. To say I’m shocked would be an extreme understatement.

“W-What?!” I manage to choke out, amidst all my confusion and the thoughts running around my mind like headless chickens.

“Uh, yeah…” he laughs nervously. “T-That’s why I wasn’t at school yesterday, um, if you noticed…”

He knows damn well that I noticed but I feel utterly stupid for not even considering that something might have been wrong with his well-being. I was under the impression that he had carelessly gone out to a party and gotten pissed but he had actually been confined in a hospital for this whole time?

I splutter, “But  _ why _ ?”

Zayn makes some sort of noise on the other end that I can’t decipher before speaking. “I-I was, uh, diagnosed with, um, a-anorexia…”

And then the silence like thunder returns and my mouth falls open, gaping wide like I’m at the dentist. Fuck. How have I been so oblivious to whenever Zayn declined an offer to eat or disappeared whenever there was food around. Now that I think about it, he practically did anything in his power to escape food without being too obvious… okay,  _ okay _ , I can’t think like this right now. Now is about Zayn, not me.

“Shit, Zayn…” I stumble over my words, not really knowing how to put my jumbled up mess of thoughts into coherent sentences while simultaneously praying that I don’t say anything wrong. “I’m  _ so _ sorry… I-I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, um, you’re okay, though, right?”

He coughs a little on his end and makes a noise of movement again. “Um, yeah, I’m fine, I guess. Just a little bored… TV doesn’t work.”

“Oh, um,” I continue to fumble over my words. “Well, text me the address you’re at and I’ll come and visit you soon… if you want, I mean.”

There’s a slight pause before I hear an exhale. “Okay, I-I’d like that a lot, actually. I’ll, um, send it to you later.”

I don’t reply for a few moments, my brain still in shock as I think of something encouraging to say. It’s safe to say that I’m especially inexperienced with these types of things so I’m not quite sure how to respond.

“Zayn,” I finally manage to breathe out.

“Yeah?”

I sigh and scratch my head. “Stay strong, okay? I-I’m here to support you all the way.”

He ponders over my words for a few moments before speaking, and I can hear a faint hint of a smile in his voice. “Yeah, okay. I will…” he trails off before adding cautiously, “C-Can I ask you to, like, not, um, tell anyone…? I’m in the process of calling the lads, I mean, I’ve only told Liam but, um, yeah… please don’t.”

I nearly start crying at how fragile and desperate he sounds.

“Of course, of course,” I mumble hastily. “I won’t… I promise.”

He exhales a sigh of relief. “Thanks, I guess. Um, well, I have to call Niall now so, um… I’ll text you later.”

“Okay,” I mutter, closing my eyes and placing my hand on my forehead in distress. “See you.”

The other end of the line goes dead and I remove my phone from my ear, flopping my arm down on the bed and exhaling loudly. What the  _ fuck _ is happening today…?

While I’m well aware that there are many different elements that contribute to an eating disorder, I can’t help the puddle of guilt that sinks to the bottom of my stomach. Zayn is someone I consider to be one of my closest mates and yet, I had managed to be so oblivious, even when the signs were right in front of me, clear and highlighted in yellow - the way he avoided food at all costs and the way he felt extra boney whenever I hugged him. My level of ignorance could not get higher than that.

I can only hope and pray that Zayn is willing to put himself through what it takes in order to get better. I know he’s a strong lad but healing from an eating disorder… that’s something that takes double the amount of psychological  _ and _ physical effort.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m still laying in my bed, my eyes now open as they stare at the plain, taupe ceiling on top of me. I have come to the conclusion that life, in fact, sucks big time. It sucks because no one gets the choice to whether they want to be born and suffer through the trials and tribulations of life or not. You’re just put here on earth and are expected to be resilient and intelligent in order to survive. Why, God (or whoever else who created life was)? What the hell was going through your mind when you decided to create the thing called  _ life _ ?

Suddenly, I feel the vibrations of my phone ringing begin again and I groan, picking it up and actually bothering to take a glimpse at who’s calling me. I groan even louder in irritation when I see that the person who has decided to call me is Nicholas fucking Grimshaw. I can’t even imagine  _ what _ his reason for calling me at this exact time is but it’s not a good time, lad. As a matter of fact, it’s  _ never _ a good time for him to call me.

The angel that’s sitting on my left shoulder is trying to persuade me to press the green  _ accept _ button because it’s only respectful and polite to pick up when your life-long friend is calling you. But the demon (it’s not an evil demon, it’s more like my actual thoughts) on my right shoulder wants me to ignore the call, even if Nick calls a thousand more times afterwards. I’m so frustrated and nowhere near in the mood to talk to him but the angel is giving me puppy dog eyes. I have to give in.

Nick begins blabbering as soon as I accept the call after the sixth ring.

“Mate, did you hear about what happened to Zayn? He just called and told me that he got sent to the hospital ‘cause he hasn’t been eating enough or summat, but I swear I literally saw him eat a burger last week. So, I kinda have the feeling that he’s just taking the piss and is fooling around with us. Maybe we should come up with a revenge prank,” he rambles, the slightly-slurred words tumbling out of his mouth as if he’s not even considering what he’s saying.

I furrow my eyebrows, utterly repulsed at what Nick even has the audacity to say.

“Mate, listen to yourself,” I chide him, my tone harsh and stern.

“I am, I have ears. Two of ‘em, in fact,” he jokes light-heartedly and I roll my eyes. If he was here in person, I’d be rolling my eyes all around their sockets, in front of his face so he can see how irritated I am. 

“Well, he’s not joking,” I retort. “Do you really think Zayn would joke about something this serious?”

There is a pause on the other end of the line and I can practically see Nick shrugging. “I dunno… I mean, it can’t be  _ that _ serious, can it?”

I nearly want to shriek in rage and throw my phone at the wall because of how ignorant and glaikit he’s being. I fight the fervid urge to huff and him and tell him, ‘bye, go educate yourself but don’t talk to me ever again’ but I can’t bring myself to let those stinging words come out of my mouth. Words don’t do justice to how annoyed I am.

“Are you actually joking?” I demand, utterly exasperated at this point.

“What do you  _ mean _ , am I joking?” Nick asks, a confused frown evident within his voice. “I just don’t think it’s as dramatic as he’s making it out to be so why do you care so much.”

I want to facepalm loudly but I’d prefer to facepalm Nick’s balls with a table. I let out a frustrated sigh instead.

“Nick, I care because he’s my friend,” I tell him coldly. “You can decide if you want to continue being ignorant or if you want to show your support for Zayn when he needs it most. Have a marvellous day.”

Before he can retaliate with another stupid response, I hang up and let my phone drop on the carpet beside my bed. I turn over so I’m laying on my stomach, my head buried in my pillow and I let out a scream of agitation. To be fair, I sound more like a constipated horse that’s learning how to neigh for the first time than an actual human but that’s what some people do to me (Nick) - they get on my nerves, so much so that I turn into an animal. Nick… I don’t know whether he even realises how much of an airhead he sounds like.

With that being said, it’s probably my greatest wish right now that I don’t ever turn out like that.

***

At around three in the afternoon, the sensor on the wall detects my presence and the automatic doors open wide, granting me access into the foyer of the hospital. It’s one of those private hospitals so there are no  cafés, gift shops, children’s play areas or anything of that sort. In fact, the foyer is relatively small and basic, with only about three rows of chairs and some coffee tables with various celebrity gossip magazines sitting on them. There are also a few pot plants and succulents lying around in certain places, and I scrunch my nose as I spot a sunflower staring at me. Who uses a fucking sunflower as an indoor decoration?

Usually, hospitals contain people of all ages, ranging from foetuses to people who are nearly dying of old age, but it seems like I’ve chosen the day to come by when the waiting room is mainly filled with old people. Don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely nothing against the older generations - I just feel a little isolated amongst them because there’s no one else around here who’s my age. Fortunately, all the people in the waiting room are either engrossed in a magazine or have their eyes glued to the TV screen (it’s literally playing a vacuum cleaner advertisement), so no one stares at me as I enter the building.

To my pleasant surprise, there isn’t a line to the front desk so I walk right up to it, waiting expectantly for a few seconds before the lady notices me and looks up from her computer. She removes her glasses and I have to bite my lip from saying anything as she quite obviously forces a fake smile. I suspect she’s not really in the mood to be doing her job and talking to people.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?” she greets me politely, her long, recently manicured nails tapping on the table impatiently as she talks.

“Hi, um, I’d like to visit one of my friends, Zayn Malik,” I tell her, rolling on the balls of my feet as she sort of scrutinises me. I shift uncomfortably under her gaze.

When she’s done studying me, she slowly moves her gaze back to her computer and types something quickly (I assume it’s Zayn’s name) before pressing the  _ enter _ key. She places her hand under her chin as her eyes scan her screen.

“Level two, east wing, room fourteen,” she reads before turning and eyeing me again. “Visiting hours close at six in the evening.”

I nod, still quite awkward under her stare. “Alright, thanks.”

I practically flee from the front desk and make my way down the corridor, keeping my eye out for an elevator. It certainly doesn’t help that I haven’t been to a hospital in years, now, because having even a smidge of knowledge about the floorplan of a hospital would be extremely useful. Where the hell is the east wing? I turn my head to squint out of the window but I can’t see which direction the sun is. Who am I kidding? I don’t even know if the east and west wings of this hospital correspond with the movement of the sun.

Though the hospital seems small from the outside, it feels like a never-ending maze as I navigate my way through the halls on the inside. The occasional nurse passes by me and they all give me strange looks, causing me to realise that I must look really lost. They wouldn’t be wrong, though.

I heave a sigh of relief as I finally come across a lone elevator and I press the upwards arrow button beside it on the wall. I tap my foot on the ground impatiently as I wait for the elevator to arrive on the ground floor. When it does, it makes a satisfying ding and the doors begin to slide open. 

Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have stood right in front of the doors because almost immediately as the doors open, a lady starts pushing a large pram out and I nearly trip over the wheels in my haste to get out of the way. I mutter a quick  _ sorry _ as I stand off to the side, my face heating up in embarrassment as she gives me a small, smileless nod. As soon as she and the rest of her kids are out of the elevator, I quickly step inside, rushing to press the button to close the doors. I don’t need anyone else in the elevator to rot with me from the awkward silence during our journey up.

The elevator is quite slow but it reaches level two soon enough and the door opens, revealing a small crowd standing in wait. I almost feel slightly humiliated under all their gazes but I step out quickly and head towards a sign that tells me that I just have to continue walking forward in order to get to the east wing. It’s simple enough, I suppose, but then again, I’m quite hopeless with directions so I wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up getting lost.

The rooms are literally numbered like the houses on a street, with the numbers alternating on each side. Most of the doors are open and I can hear some faint chatter and the murmuring of a couple of different TV shows. I can only imagine how lonely and boring it’d be to be staying in a hospital for a few hours, let alone, many days. Zayn’s probably bored out of his mind, seeing as his TV doesn’t even work!

When I arrive at room number fourteen, I desperately hope that Zayn hasn’t closed the curtain around his bed because otherwise, I’d have to awkwardly look behind random people’s curtains, in search of him. I enter the room and to my relief, immediately spot the dark-haired lad, sitting up in his bed with the most bored expression I’ve ever seen him muster. I almost get a little squeamish when my gaze falls on the wire that’s connected to his left arm.

He mindlessly looks up when I come into the room but his eyes widen when he realises it’s me. Then, the look of surprise is washed away from his face and is replaced by a softer grin.

“Louis! You came!” he exclaims excitedly and I send a smile back his way because I can’t imagine how ecstatic he must be to have a visitor.

I nod profusely, my lips stretching even wider. “Of course! Nearly got lost in this maze of a hospital, though.”

As I walk towards his bed, I notice a chair sitting off to the side of the room and I drag it up to where Zayn is before plopping down on it and observing the place. There are about three other beds in the room and two of them are closed off by the curtains but on the last one, a young girl is sleeping soundly, also with a wire attached to her arm. Both the girl and Zayn have a small table next to their beds with a cup of water sitting on it.

I look up to see that Zayn’s TV, indeed, is off and it has a small crack in it. I can only guess that the previous patient had a temper tantrum or something of the sort, and threw something at the TV amidst their fury. I feel bad for Zayn because the TV would have probably been his only saving grace in such a miserable place like this. All in all, the hospital seems like a pretty lonely and dark setting to stay in, despite the numerous bright lights and the white walls.

“So,” I begin, shifting my gaze back to Zayn, who’s now itching the place on his arm that surrounds the needle, “how are you?”

He gives somewhat of a nod but it’s definitely not the most convincing one. “I’m okay… a bit lonely, though,” he pauses, glancing around the room before lowering his voice, “the girl over there’s always sleeping and the other two always have their curtains drawn so I’ve got no one to talk to. Plus, the TV’s fucked.”

I grimace as I empathise with him. “Sounds horrible…” I trail off, my brain suddenly getting a burst of curiosity and I lick my lips before I speak, “So, um, what do you have to, you know… do?”

I briefly wonder if it’s a touchy subject to ask what the nurses put a hospital patient through. Everyone’s different but perhaps some people who have eating disorders might not want to discuss their treatment process and bring attention back to, you know… what’s happened to them.

However, Zayn doesn’t falter for a second before he starts to explain.

“Well, they’ve assigned me a meal plan and everything comes in plastic boxes or wrapping - extremely disgraceful to the environment,” he scrunches his nose as he says that, reaching over to the desk beside him and picking up an empty plastic tub. He tilts it towards me so I can see the label and it reads  _ Malik, Zayn - Fruche (Pineapple) [Afternoon Tea] _ . I, personally, have never heard of such a thing as a  _ fruche _ . “This fruche thing was absolutely disgusting but it was even more filling than a three-course meal. And even worse, they gave me pineapple flavour. Can you believe it?  _ Pineapple _ flavour!”

I make a disgusted face as Zayn grumbles about the fruche.

“That sounds  _ gross _ !” I exclaim. “Pineapple is just… that’s a  _ no _ from me.”

He nods lavishly and places the empty fruche tub on the table before grabbing another empty plastic box, tilting it towards me again so I can take a glimpse of the label. This one reads  _ Malik, Zayn - Special Sandwich (Ham & Cheese) [Lunch] _ . I let out a snort at the name.

“Some special sandwich that is,” I snicker and Zayn laughs.

“It’s truly an exquisite work, overflowing with uniqueness, isn’t it?” he adds sarcastically, his dark eyes twinkling with something like humour. He puts the plastic box back on the table and proceeds to point at the needle that’s injected into his arm. “This thing is such a pain in my arse, well, arm, I guess. It’s to give me minerals because I’m deficient in potassium or summat,” he explains before nodding towards another wire that’s attached to his other arm. I had failed to notice it before because it was half-hidden behind his blanket. “This one’s to measure my heart rate and make sure it’s steady.”

I nod in understanding, asking the first question that comes to my mind “Can you, like, move or anything?”

He shrugs, his expression a little bit duller. “No, not really. I haven’t got anywhere to go anyway.”

“What have you been doing, then?” I question, my brain still overflowing with inquisitiveness.

He shrugs again. “Literally nothing. I sit here and stare at the wall, and sleep. Sometimes, I use my phone but my battery runs out pretty quickly, so I can’t use it too much. They take phones away at eight.”

“That sounds  _ awful _ ,” I voice my thoughts, my forehead creasing in distaste for how boring it sounds to pass even a day in this hospital.

“I have to start family therapy soon,” he informs me. “They’re gonna make us discuss shit about eating disorders and how to get better and stuff. Mum’s gotta put me on a diet plan when I get home.”

He gives me a look that clearly reads that he’s utterly repulsed by the thought and is  _ so _ not looking forward to family therapy. I do what I have in my will to sympathise with him. I can only visualise myself sitting in a circle with my parents and a doctor, the three pairs of eyes all on me as they repeatedly tell me that I have to eat more. That’s probably not even close to what family therapy is like but I can only imagine that it’s much, much worse, especially in the psychological aspect. 

“How long do you have to stay here for?” I inquire.

“Maybe a week or two,” he responds, his eyes distracted as he glances around the room. My eyes snap towards the young girl when I hear her move around in her bed but then she stops and goes silent again. He slowly sets his gaze back on me. “At least I’ll be able to sleep a lot.”

“True, true,” I mutter in response as a lightbulb suddenly turns on in my head. “Hey, I know you’re probably bored out of your mind so do you want to play charades?”

His eyes light up in enthusiasm and that’s all it takes for me to whip out my phone and open the charades app.

We end up playing a few rounds of charades, Zayn bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter at my awful impersonation of Minnie Mouse, so much so that his heart rate sticker is on the brink of falling off. Somehow, he manages to beat me at nearly every round (apart from the  _ 1980’s movies _ round), which lets me know that my acting skills are decent enough.

At approximately 4 pm, I’m ushered out by one of the nurses because apparently, the lady at the front desk had neglected to inform me that I could only visit for a maximum of one hour. I let Zayn know that I’ll be back soon to visit him and he smiles at me, sincerely thanking me for taking the time out of my day to keep him company. I can tell that he’s really grateful because of how deep and genuine the brown in his eyes is. I nod in response, with a small smile, heading out of the room and somehow managing to navigate my way back to the waiting area without getting lost.

As I stroll to the bus stop, I can’t help but feel like I’ve very much completed my daily duty of lighting up someone’s day. It kind of makes my heart leap in my chest and a permanent smile is tattooed on my face.

***

Yesterday must’ve been too soon to say that a permanent smile was tattooed on my face because today, Sunday… I have to go to church. It’s the same old routine - I wake up while Fizzy repetitively slaps a pillow in my face, I get ready and eat breakfast as we wait for the girls to get ready, I walk alongside my family to church with Daisy sitting on my shoulders, my parents literally greet every single person in the church while I drop the girls off at the kids’ church (I’ve always wondered why kids’ church is also referred to as  _ Sunday School _ , as if it’s some sort of legal obligation that children from Christian families  _ must _ attend), we find our usual seats in the chapel and I wait for Liam to arrive.

Except, Liam doesn’t show and I’m left alone with my parents, refusing to make eye contact with anyone as I awkwardly fidget in my seat. I reluctantly stand for worship and mouth the words along without actually singing, just for good measure. Whenever Mum catches me not making an effort to sing, she suddenly nudges me and I nearly fall over from the shock. I have to admit, the worship songs we’ve been singing lately are becoming quite monotonous because they all sound the same - they have the same instruments, the same beat and the same sort of lyrics. It certainly doesn’t help that one of the songs we’re singing this week, we’ve sung consecutively for the past five or so Sundays!

When the worship session is over, I hastily sit back down and it’s only then that I notice that a middle-aged couple has appeared right next to me. I probably should’ve opted to sit in the aisle seat because the woman places her handbag in between us, providing me with less of my chair to sit on. The woman smooths down her very formal, black dress when she sits down and turns to her husband, muttering something in his ear that I don’t catch.

When all the musicians and singers have cleared off of the stage, an old-ish man hobbles up to the stage and starts talking about his weekend into the microphone. I’m pretty sure the speech is supposed to be funny because I hear some light chuckles around me, but all I can focus on is how much of his saliva is sounding through the speakers. The man somehow integrates the tale of his weekend into the communion message and before I know it, the ushers are being sent around to hand out the biscuits and grape juice.

My parents only let me take communion when I turned thirteen because according to them, that was the age when I could really start to understand the true meaning behind communion. But to be fair, which child  _ actually _ wants to take communion for the sole purpose of it supposedly being Jesus’ blood and flesh. No, we want communion because it’s a chance for us to eat food during the service (that’s probably disrespectful to the practice so I’ll keep it to myself for now)!

After the man says a lengthy prayer about how he wishes for Jesus to cover us with his blood (I can only imagine Jesus smothering a bunch of blood on my face), my head feels like it’s going to fall off because of how long it’s been bowed for. Alright, alright. I’m being dramatic but you can probably tell how much I’d rather be anywhere else but here. Before he shuffles off the stage, the man tells us that we have a minute to introduce ourselves and make small-talk with our  _ neighbour _ , basically meaning everyone who sits within a five-metre radius of you.

I can’t recall a time when I’ve ever actually  _ wanted _ to introduce myself to my  _ neighbour _ during this one minute period.

I try to shrink myself into the smallest size as people from everywhere around me stand up and move to greet each other. I look up when Mum nudges me and nods towards the middle-aged couple but I frantically shake my head with my eyes wide. She just shrugs and turns around to shake hands with an old lady who’s sitting behind us.

Suddenly, I feel a hand touching my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin at the unexpected contact. I whip my head around, only to come face to face with the woman who put her handbag on my fucking seat.

“Good morning, sir,” she smiles a sickeningly sweet smile and back myself into a corner of isolation. Sir?  _ Sir _ ? How old does she think I am?! “Melissa.”

I suffer from both first-hand  _ and _ second-hand embarrassment (I’m not sure if that’s even possible) as I force a small smile on my face and shake her outstretched hand. I’m trying to look as friendly as possible but I probably look more in pain than anything, in reality.

“Hi, um, I’m Louis. Nice to meet you?” It comes out more like a question than I was intending it to but I don’t fucking know how to introduce myself amiable to strangers, okay?

“Wonderful to meet you, too,” she tells me but I can tell she’s lying. Who in their right mind would consider it  _ wonderful _ to meet a socially inept recluse like me? “So, what do you do?”

Maybe it’s just me but one of the most awful, gut-wrenching feelings is when a stranger says something to you that you don’t understand and you have to ask for clarification. That might just take the steal spot for  _ most humiliating first interaction situations _ .

“Sorry, what?” I manage to choke out, uncomfortably shifting in my seat.

She just continues smiling at me and it’s sort of vexing me how much she’s smiling. “What’s your job?”

Once again, how old does she think I am?! I try to mask my internal, horrified expression by showing more of my teeth but I know my eyes are full of mortification.

“I’m, uh, in high school…” I tell her, creating an atmosphere of severe awkwardness as I trail off.

I only become more anxious when she throws her head back and laughs, giving me a view of the metal teeth in her mouth. I play with the hem of my hoodie.

“Oh, sorry about that,” she apologises when she’s finished laughing. “What are you planning on studying?”

“Um, maybe drama or English literature,” I mumble, refusing to meet her firm gaze.

People say it’s respectful to look straight into the other person’s eyes when you’re talking to them but when I get nervous, my hearing senses exacerbate so I have to look at their mouth so I can fully grasp what they're saying. Except, it’s not the wisest choice to look at the lips of someone who’s observant because they end up thinking that you want to kiss them. I’ll say this once and once only - I  _ do not _ want to kiss this middle-aged, married lady and smudge bright, pink lipstick on my mouth.

“Interesting,” she muses. “You sure you want to do drama? You seem like a pretty shy bloke to me.”

Okay, well, that’s not what I was expecting her to say and I feel the heat begin to rise to my cheeks as I squirm in discomfort. What am I supposed to say to that? Something like ‘yeah, I’m pretty shy and that’s why I don’t want to talk to you’? Ugh, sometimes I wonder why people even bother talking to me. It’s not ideal for either of us.

Fortunately, and to my relief, the timer for one minute ends and another man walks up on stage, telling everyone to quickly head back to their seats as he fumbles around with his Bible and notebook. The congregation scurries back to their respective seats and go silent - the kind of attentive silence that any school teacher would dream of experiencing just once in their class.

I relax at the back of my seat as the speaker and media team seem to struggle with some technical issues, with both the microphone and the powerpoint malfunctioning at the same time. Throughout the silence, I hear a few muffled coughs and a baby starts screaming and crying at the back of the room. One of the ladies from the media team rushes up and down the aisle, checking various things with the microphone before darting back to the sound desk

“Hello, hello?” the speaker tests out the microphone and then beams when he realises that it’s started working. At the same time, the title slide of the presentation appears, large, bright and screaming on the three screens behind him. My heart immediately deactivates and seemingly plummets into an abyss of misery.

I want to  _ die _ .

I swear to God (and yes, I’m saying that while I’m in a church - God’s holy temple), if I see another book, presentation or podcast title with the words  _ God & Homosexuality _ plastered in large, bold letters, I will not hesitate to snap the closest neck. I feel like the universe is against me because for the past two or three weeks, this topic has come up more times than I remember. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing wrong in life but it really seems like Karma is out to get me.

Now, I’m a little grateful that Liam isn’t here because if he was, he’d notice my discomfort straight away. He’d ask me why I’m fidgeting and squirming around so much and I’d stumble over my words. Long story short, I’d somehow end up indirectly outing myself and my life would be doomed forever. Luckily, my parents are probably too engrossed by the message to notice how stiff I’ve become (not in that way, you perv!).

As soon as the speaker begins to introduce his sermon, I wish I could rip the microphone from his hand and blast  _ I Want To Break Free _ by Queen, followed by  _ Toxic _ by Britney Spears through the speakers. But alas, I don’t have the power to do any of the sort; I can only stay seated in my chair and suffer.

“God and homosexuality,” the man begins and I already feel like this is a child’s presentation because he literally just read the title from the slide. “Well, before I start, I’ll just introduce myself a bit - my name is Chris Rodgers and I work as an IT consultant. I’m happily married to my wife of fifteen years and we’ve got three children of our own; one’s in secondary school and the other two are still in primary. One of my hobbies is playing tennis, in fact, I’m a  _ massive _ tennis fan. If any of you are interested in tennis, we can head over to the café next door to chat…”

I’m not sure if that was supposed to be a joke because the man paused like he was expecting laughter but he received absolutely nothing. Serves him right because no one wants to know about his happy marriage to his wife and his love for tennis… okay, I know I’m being unfairly snipey but it’s solely because of his awful choice of the topic for the sermon.

“Anyways, a few years ago, a young man came into the workplace and his desk was next to mine. I noticed that he would bring in an iced coffee every morning and one day, I decided to ask him about it because I much favour tea, myself. We continued becoming pretty closely acquainted before he dropped the bomb that he actually had a boyfriend.”

I fight the temptation to roll my eyes because the way he says that last part is as if it’s the most unusual, out of the ordinary thing for a man to have a boyfriend. Open your fucking eyes, mate!

He continues, “I don’t know if any of you have ever had a friend or colleague who experiences same-sex attraction but this young man did, so I asked him more about it. Turns out that he realised he was  _ gay _ when he was sixteen and impulsively jumped into a same-sex relationship at age eighteen.”

My ears may be playing tricks on me but I could’ve sworn I heard a gasp somewhere.

“Now, I’m not invalidating the sexual urges of teenagers but sixteen is far too young to be completely certain that you’re experiencing same-sex attraction. Sixteen is not an age at which teenagers should even be pursuing sexual relationships, in fact! So how on earth should he or she even know what attraction  _ really _ feels like?” he asks rhetorically and there are some murmurs of agreement.

I want to argue, but how then, should sixteen-year-olds know that they’re experiencing opposite-sex attraction when they’re too young to be pursuing sexual relationships. I want to inform him that same-sex relationships are not just for thirty-year-olds. Was this guy literally not ever horny when he was a teenager?

“You see, homosexual relationships are deemed unnatural and an abomination by the Lord our Father. See, it says right here in the Holy Word of the Lord, Leviticus eighteen verse twenty-two:  _ Do not have sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman; it is an abomination _ ,” he reads as the verse comes up on the screen behind him. Just looking at those words makes my mouth run dry. “As it’s written, people who  _ think _ that he or she is experiencing same-sex attraction are confused and are mistaking an abomination for something to pursue. The Lord created us to be attracted to people of the opposite sex.”

Laugh out fucking loud.

He rambles on further, “However, with that being said, if someone is certain and utterly convinced that he or she are experiencing same-sex attraction, it’s important to remember that same-sex attraction is not something to pursue. It is merely a sinful urge from the devil and if a person gives in to it, he or she is giving into temptation.”

The man pauses and glances around the chapel as a few people nod in understanding.

“We can see in the Bible that Jesus never gave in to temptation so if we want to be more like him, we mustn’t give in to temptation either. The devil is always trying to work its way into our minds and tempt us to sin,” he explains, licking his finger and turning his notebook to the next page. “However, if you do find yourself experiencing same-sex attraction, God does not want you to engage in a homosexual relationship. He wants you to stay away from that and continue being holy.”

This speaker kind of sounds like he hasn’t done the full extent of background research on the few Bible verses that he’s drawing his arguments from. Perhaps, if he had, he would be saying much more convincing and strong arguments for the affirmative side. Right now, it’s as if he took a glimpse at one of the Bible verses and is forming his explanations based off of a skim-read.

The man’s sermon hasn’t been going for long but it feels like it’s never going to end. “Now, say you know someone who experiences same-sex attraction, he or she does  _ not _ need to see a doctor or a therapist. He or she needs Jesus because He is the single and only antidote to a sinful lifestyle. By exposing him or her to Jesus, you’re allowing him or her a chance to open their hearts to the Son of God so he or she can be saved.”

I wonder if this man will ever decide to start using gender-neutral pronouns because the  _ he or she  _ and  _ him or her _ thing is starting to get a little old now. It’s beginning to irritate me.

“My second point piece of advice is to steer yourself clear of anything that promotes a homosexual lifestyle,” he continues, the slide changing to read Being Influenced. “Nowadays, the media heavily encourages ungodly lifestyles through books, movies, TV shows and even through people. If you see that something is portraying a homosexual relationship in a positive or neutral light, stay away from it. The media is smart and has an uncanny ability to play tricks on your mind and influence you to think that it is okay to give in to that sinful temptation.”

I look over to Mum, only to see her furiously scribbling notes on her notepad, almost already having filled a full page from this sermon. If she wasn’t already so stuck into her note-taking, I’m pretty sure she would’ve demanded me to take some notes as well because ‘it’s important’.

“As well as that, it would be very wise to not expose your children to homosexual behaviours and lifestyles. When my wife and I had our first son, we agreed to make sure that our son stays away from ungodly, homosexual influences, so that his mind may not be corrupted by them.” Woah, there... corrupted? That seems like a pretty dramatic word to me! “You don’t want your kids to grow up think that it’s okay to be gay because otherwise, in the future, they might engage in that sort of sinful sexual relationship.”

Throughout the constant debates in my mind about whether I should come out to my parents or keep it a secret forever, I realised that if I did, they would tell me that I’m giving into the temptation of the sin, just like the speaker just said. So, then I would have to explain to them that I don’t actually think it’s a sin and then they’d tell me that I can’t just pick and choose from the Bible. That’s another argument that I need to think about.

I must be psychic because that’s exactly what the speaker brings up next.

“Now, even some Christians may argue that homosexuality isn’t a sin, just because he or she thinks that it’s not one. He or she will argue that the Bible is outdated and doesn’t apply today, however, I choose to believe that the Bible is a living book and it still applies to our lives today,” he says. “You cannot pick and choose what to believe from the Bible. You cannot choose to believe that adultery is a sin but then go ahead and believe that homosexuality is not a sin; you either believe the whole Bible or none of it.”

Alright, then. I have to expect that this preacher is a vegan and is not wearing a garment that is made from two different types of materials. Ah, shit. I guess not. He’s wearing a polyester shirt with cotton threaded into it, and the logo printed on the shirt belongs to some sort of poultry farming business. I call for a standing ovation for this man for choosing the most appropriate day to wear this shirt.

The man continues to babble on about the devil and how it tempts us to sin through homosexual relationships, which is clearly extremely interesting to Mum because she takes down notes with such haste and vigour that I would’ve guessed that she missed some classes at school and is now avidly paying attention in order to catch up. But for me, the speaker’s meaningless words fly over my head; they go in one of my ears for my brain to consider briefly before going straight out the other ear. I didn’t wish for this sermon and I don’t want to listen to it anyway. If anything, I’d rather walk up a mountain again than be here.

It feels like an eternity before the man decides to shut up and end his sermon, receiving some applause (certainly not from me) for his purposeful speech as he walks off the stage. He takes a seat next to a woman, who I presume is his wife, as a lady walks up on stage. If I’m being honest, I never really pay attention to this segment of the service but I somehow recognise this lady as the lady who always closes. She usually does so by summarising the sermon and dramatically proclaiming how great God is before praying and wishing us a lovely afternoon.

I’m well on my way out of the chapel before the lady even dismisses us.

As a responsible older brother, it is usually my duty to sign the girls out of the kids’ church. Usually, Liam joins me as I wait for them to come out but today, he’s not here, so I’m left to stand alone awkwardly amongst a crowd of parents. Because the church is relatively small, all the school-aged children stay together in the same room, which is convenient because otherwise, I’d be running around like a mother with ten children.

While I wait for one of the girls to appear, my eyes stray towards where my parents are standing, drinking coffee and conversing with another couple, who seem to have just had a baby. I watch as Mum reaches out to tickle the baby’s chin and the baby laughs in glee. Mum says something to the other lady which I assume was something funny because the lady throws her head back and laughs.

But suddenly. my attention snaps back to my job as a responsible older brother when I feel something, or someone, rather, latch onto my waist. It’s not like this has never happened before but I still jump at the abruptness of it. I look down to see the top of one of the twins’ pink and purple beanie. Whichever twin it is has got their face buried into my side as their arms tighten around me.

“Lou!” I hear a young voice call my name and I look up to see Daisy running out of the room towards me, latching on to my other side. I wrap my arms around them and rub their back, wondering what the occasion is for all the sudden hugging.

But then, Phoebe raises her head to look up at me and I get a view of her swollen, red eyes, along with her quivering mouth. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears and I will myself not to gasp.

“Aw, what happened, sweetie?” I ask sweetly, hoisting the girl up on my hip so we’re basically at eye level.

Under her, Daisy removes herself from my waist and tugs on my hand so I look down at her. “They made her pray, Lou. In front of everyone!”

My eyes widen and I realise why Phoebe’s crying. I’m well aware that she gets a lot of stage fright whenever she’s asked to speak in front of anyone, so having to pray on her own in front of people shouldn’t be an exception. She presses her face in my neck and shakes a little as she sobs.

I caress the back of her head a little and mutter, “Shh, it’s okay now, Phoebs... you were very, very brave.”

She leans back so I can see her big, blue eyes that are filled with tears. She looks so fragile and I feel like if I say anything the slightest bit wrong, I’ll break her.

“I didn’t want to!” she exclaims, hiccuping at the end as she bursts into tears again.

I look down to Daisy, who’s looking up at us with her very own wide eyes, now clutching on to the bottom of my hoodie. I’m suddenly extremely angry and frustrated at whoever forced Phoebe to pray in front of everyone against her will.

“Listen, you never have to do anything you don’t want to, okay?” I reassure her, stroking her back.

‘B-But they said that if I didn’t, they’d tell Mum and Dad!” she exclaims, burrowing her head into my neck again.

I sigh. They literally just sent her the message that they can get her in trouble for not  _ praying _ . What the actual fuck?

“Hey, look at me,” I tell her, nudging her slightly so she’ll uncover her face again and I can see her. “If they try to force you to do something like that ever again, tell them that your big brother, Louis, will rip their eyebrows off and dye their hair rainbow in their sleep.”

She giggles at that, a smile replacing her former frown, and I sort of feel accomplished that I managed to make her laugh. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a young woman approach Daisy to give her two sheets of paper with colourful ducks on them. Daisy’s eyes light up when she receives them and she immediately turns around to show them off to me.

“Lou! Look what me and Phoebe coloured!” she says excitedly, shoving the sheets of paper in my face.

I have to admit that they’ve certainly done a much better job than I could’ve ever dreamed of doing when I was their age. I lower Phoebe to the ground, now that she’s stopped crying and crouch so I’m still at eye level with them.

“Those are two absolutely gorgeous... stunning ducks,” I compliment them, making them both giggle before I turn and point towards where our parents are standing. “Why don’t you go and show your wonderfully coloured-in ducks to Mum. Maybe she’ll even put them up on the fridge!”

“Okay!” the chorus excitedly, both nodding before dashing off in the direction that I had pointed towards.

Almost immediately, Fizzy and Lottie come rushing out to the room, their matching Bibles in hand.

“Lou, can you get lunch? I’m starving!” Lottie exclaims, fanning herself with her Bible as if she’s sweating and severely dehydrated.

“Me too!” Fizzy adds, just as eagerly.

“We’ll see what Mum and Dad have got planned for lunch today, okay?” I tell them and they both nod.

The truth is, I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive being in the presence of my parents, right after sitting through a sermon that literally attacks my existence. I can only hope that they don’t decide to discuss it before I’ve had a chance to think up responses to every potential thing they’ll say, and responses that don’t give anything away. Especially after hearing something like that, they’ll probably be even more convinced that being anything other than heterosexual is a sin.

Just my luck, I suppose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading !
> 
> This is not so important but if anyone is interested in going to Louis' 2nd show in Melbourne (June 22nd 2021), shoot me a comment because I'd really like to go with someone. Unfortunately, none of my friends are interested or have the money to buy tickets, so I'd be lonely there. Usually, I go to concerts with my dad (because I'm not an adult yet) but I can't drag him to Louis' concert because he cusses there lmao. Anyways, thanks for your consideration :) have a lovely day x


	6. “It’s Not Possible to Fall in Love”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis gets caught and takes a large step, which may or may not end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> larrys_101, i hope you have a wonderful birthday ! stay safe and healthy xx

Sunday evening comes the time where we engage in a family devotion, which begins with us singing along to one or two worship songs. Then, the girls recount what they learnt at the kids’ church, blabbering a bit too much about the arts and crafts segment of the service for Mum’s liking. After that, it’s time for my parents and I to discuss what we learnt in the main service (because apparently, it’s essential that the girls start off strong with foundational beliefs so they’re less at risk of being ‘corrupted’ as they grow up). I, personally, am  _ really _ not looking forward to discussing today’s particular message, just because I don’t believe in it at all.

“Now, now, Daisy,” Mum chastises, swatting her hands in the air as Daisy rambles on about how she managed to colour everything within the lines, “It’s okay to be proud of your artwork but remember, the main focus of church is God.”

Daisy closes her mouth and resigns to the back of the couch, slumping her shoulders and reluctantly placing her hands in her lap, her expression cross.

“Dais, I loved your duck so much, I might just have to steal it for myself and frame it!” Lottie encourages, a little dramatic and with a twinkle in her eye. Daisy’s eyes light up at that compliment and she nods profusely.

“Louis, why don’t you tell the girls what  _ we _ learnt today,” Mum suggests and I immediately snap my attention from the girls’ interaction to look at her.

As soon as I hear those words, my mouth completely desiccates and a familiar lump forms in my throat, providing yet another barrier between my thoughts and words. Perhaps, my heart even plummeted to my stomach and now that my internal organs are all messed up, my brain also begins to go haywire. I can’t even think properly. I had hoped and prayed that this week, Mum or Dad would recount what the speaker said since last week, I did it. But I guess not.

“Um,” I stutter, flushing red under the gaze of all six pairs of eyes. The twins are staring at me intently, their eyes wide and heads tilted to the side. Mum’s looking at me with expectancy in her eyes as if she’s testing me or something. I tell myself that it shouldn’t be this hard to just repeat what the man said… but then,  _ why _ is it? “Well, uh, we learnt about love and stuff…”

I trail off, hesitantly meeting Mum’s eyes. She’s got her eyebrows furrowed in confusion because I’m definitely twisting the speaker’s words. There was  _ hardly _ any talk about love, in fact, the main focus of the sermon was on attraction. Mum has tasked me with a difficult job; how the hell am I even supposed to describe a topic like this, as if I agree with it, and in a child-friendly way?

“Love?” Phoebe suddenly questions and I look in her direction. “Like Cinderella?”

“No, Rapunzel is better!” Daisy argues fiercely.

Mum chuckles albeit a little weakly. “No, girls. We learnt about the type of love that God  _ doesn’t _ allow.”

My stomach is now twisting into knots around my heart. I’m glad I’m sitting down because my knees are beginning to feel shaky.

Fizzy frowns and opens her mouth to raise a question, “But doesn’t God want us to love  _ everyone _ ? How can he not allow a type of love?”

I feel sick as Mum shoots me a look of disapproval because I’m not contributing enough to the conversation. Warily, I look towards Dad and hope that he takes over so I don’t have to. I’d probably end up throwing up before a word has the chance to escape my mouth.

_ Thankfully _ , Dad begins talking, “We’re talking about how God wouldn’t like it if two princes were in love or if two princesses were in love.” 

I can practically feel everyone’s gaze on me as the backs of my eyes prickle and threaten to release tears.

Daisy frowns. “But  _ why _ ?”

Dad sighs as if Daisy should’ve known better than to ask that question. “Because that’s not how God created us. God created us girls to like boys and boys to like girls.”

“But what if a prince  _ accidentally _ falls in love with another prince?” Phoebe questions, her face a mirror of confusion.

I suddenly feel vulnerable, as if everyone in the room can see straight through my nonchalant facade and read my thoughts. My facade, however, is just on the brink of shattering and I’m right on the edge of giving up… just a few more minutes until it’s over. I can’t risk it; I have to keep up the act.

“It doesn’t work that way, honey,” Mum shakes her head. “God didn’t create us that way… i-it’s unnatural.”

The way she stutters while saying that last part almost feels like it’s targeted right at me and is trying to pierce my skin, straight through to my heart. I will myself not to panic but my metaphorical ozone layer is depleting. The heat is rising to my cheeks, engulfing me whole as an extreme whirlwind of thoughts overwhelms my brain. Does she  _ know _ ?

I can’t let them find out.

“But then, how come I saw two men holding hands when we went to the shops on Friday?” Phoebe asks innocently, her eyes wide and imploring.

I hear Mum take a sharp intake of breath and I feel fucking sick, to the point that I may just rid of my entire stomach onto the floor in front of me. They don’t need to have this talk when they’re  _ so _ young.

“They’re not living the way God intends us to live,” she explains, her tone hard with a tinge of coldness.

“But, Mum?” Lottie begins, pausing momentarily as if she’s calculating her words carefully. She glances over to Mum, a nervous expression on her face. “I thought it’s not impossible to control who you fall in love with?”

“See, that’s what the world  _ wants _ you to think; it’s not the truth,” Mum responds, shaking her head in disagreement. “I  _ chose _ to fall in love with your dad.”

All the girls turn their heads to look at Dad, who just merely shrugs. “You can choose to love someone if God calls you to and you put your mind to it. God brought your mother and I together and we worked for our love."

Daisy’s mouth falls open and she looks like she’s about to cry. “B-But… what about Rapunzel and Cinderella? They fell in love with the princes at first sight!”

My teeth are clenched together tightly as I glance back and forth between Mum and the twins. I can’t will myself to speak up… I can’t. It is what it is if Mum decides to ruin their fairytale-filled childhoods.

“That’s what the world says, not what God says,” Mum explains, her tone a little softer and more careful. “Real love… real love doesn’t work like that.”

It only lasts for a split second, but I make eye contact with Lottie and she looks a little helpless because of her own feelings. While she may not necessarily be in love with the person she has a crush on, I can tell that she doesn’t understand the reasoning behind what Mum’s preaching. She doesn’t understand  _ how _ a person can  _ choose _ to be attracted to someone and  _ choose _ to fall in love with them… Neither do I.

The twins and Fizzy look utterly defeated, feeling betrayed because everything they’ve known about love has come from the fairytales they’ve watched and read, and that has just been ruined for them. Thanks a lot, Mum and Dad. Thanks for letting them know that they’re never going to be swept off their feet by a prince or a princess. Thanks for destroying one of their greatest wishes for their futures. I swear I will snap soon.

“It’s eight o’clock - bedtime,” I manage to croak out, glancing at the clock on the wall and mentally expressing my gratitude for its stellar timing.

My eyes cautiously wander towards Mum and it’s only then that I realise that she’s already looking at me, her face hard and her eyes slightly disappointed. My heart sinks even further, all the way down to my gut. I shouldn’t care about what she thinks but I can’t help it. She’s my mother, after all.

Before she can tell me off for cutting the discussion short, I grab Daisy and Phoebe’s hands, and whisk them both away from the rest of the family. The saliva in my mouth turns sour as I realise that there is no skip in either of their steps when they trudge up the stairs, but their small hands grip mine as if their lives depend on it. I close the door behind me as we enter their room.

I can’t imagine how deceived both of them feel as I glance around the room and see all of the princess figures that are sitting on their shelves. They’ve got a  _ Beauty and the Beast _ poster hung up on the door to their closet, and a picture from when they met Snow White at Disneyland framed on the bedside table. Fuck. This… this is too much for my brain to handle.

Fortunately, the twins are already in their matching pyjamas so I don’t have to wait long before they’re both sitting on Daisy’s bed, looking at me imploringly as if they’re expecting a bedtime story or something. Except, this time, their eyes are filled with sadness and their faces reflect a childhood heartbreak.

I sit myself on the edge of the bed and sigh as Phoebe speaks up, “Lou? Is it true? That we can’t fall in love? With anyone? Even if it’s a boy?”

Her voice is so shaky and fragile that my heart begins to throb in my chest. I hang my head slightly before meeting their eyes again.

I choke out, shaking my head slightly, “I don’t think it’s true… I think everyone can fall in love with anyone.”

It’s this truth that I believe and I can’t believe I’m voicing my thoughts aloud to my little sisters when really, their parents should be teaching them about this stuff. Who are they to steal all their dreams about falling in love and throw them out the window? Who are they to ruin their blameless minds and stop them from anticipating a fairytale future full of love?

“But Mum said-” Daisy interjects but I interrupt.

“I know…” I say, trailing off, slightly frustrated. “D-Don’t listen to her, loves, don’t lose hope… You two are so young…”

Phoebe frowns at that.

“But you’re older than us,” she says slowly. She looks up at me hesitantly before asking, “Did you fall in love, Lou?”

My eyes widen at the unexpected question and I feel like anything I reply with could be dangerous both to me and them. Hell, I’m not even sure about where I stand on the  _ teenager crush to love _ spectrum. But at the same time, they’re  _ so _ innocent and I simply can’t bring myself to lie to them.

“Well… I guess, yeah,” I breathe out unhurriedly and both pairs of eyes widen at my answer. Phoebe’s mouth drops in awe and she looks at me as if I’m an alien from another planet that she’s never seen before. Daisy’s face is just full of curiosity and I can tell that she’s eager to ask a gazillion questions.

“You did?” she questions, her voice filled with wonder and a tinge of excitement.

I nod meekly and force a sheepish smile onto my face. It’s enough that I just admitted to them that I feel in love and now I have to answer more questions about my feelings? I try to look at the interrogation from the bright side; perhaps, I can reestablish their beliefs about love and remind them that they can, indeed, fall in love.

“Are you still in love?” Daisy queries impatiently, suddenly grabbing my hand and tugging on it as if that’s going to make me answer faster.

I nod again and large smiles erupt on both their faces.

“Does that mean you’re going to get  _ married _ ?” Phoebe’s eyes widen with curiosity and I laugh lightly, shaking my head.

“No, not yet,” I reply, much to their dismay and their faces fall slightly. I squeeze Daisy’s hand and tap Phoebe’s cheek in reassurance. “Don’t worry! I haven’t told the person yet… maybe after I do, we can get married and you two can be our lovely flower girls!”

Their faces light up again at that proposition and Phoebe giggles. But as soon as the excitement appears on Daisy’s face, it disappears and she looks up at me tentatively.

“Lou?” she asks and I hum to show that I’m listening. “Did you fall in love with a princess or a prince?”

Oh, Lord… I wasn’t ready for this question. My breath hitches in my throat as Phoebe joins Daisy in looking at me in anticipation. My mouth opens briefly and then closes, and I swallow as I contemplate whether to tell them the truth or just avoid the question completely. Who am I kidding? I’ve taken so long to answer that they probably already know by now.

It seems like good luck is somewhat on my side tonight because just as I reopen my mouth to answer, there is a faint knocking on the door before the knob is twisted open and Mum pokes her head into the room. I heave a silent sigh of relief and thank whoever’s listening to me for the perfect timing.

“Girls,” she speaks, her eyes piercing mine instead of looking at the twins. My stomach does a flip, “time to sleep now. I need your brother to help me with something.”

If either of the twins were disappointed because I didn’t answer their question, they don’t show it. Phoebe leaps across the room and lands on her own bed, placing her head on her pillow and snuggling under the covers. I stand up from Daisy’s bed as she mirrors her twin’s actions.

“Sweet dreams, girls,” I wish them, leaning down to kiss Daisy on the forehead before moving to the other side of the room and doing the same to Phoebe. I hear them both giggle before I head for the door and turn off the lights, all the while under Mum’s shrewd gaze. She takes a step back as I close the door behind me and I follow her down the corridor, towards the stairs.

When we reach the foot of the stairs, she suddenly turns to look at me with a hard expression and challenging eyes. She crosses her arms. “Louis William Tomlinson, your father and I need to have a talk with you.”

My eyes widen as panic rises in my chest and I swallow too loudly, probably. Fuck. They know. They know and I can’t do anything in my power to get away. I’d rather die than have this talk.

I traipse behind her reluctantly and we arrive at the dining table, where Dad is already seated, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when I take a seat and it’s then that I notice that my phone is also on the table. Mum sits next to dad and pushes my phone towards me, sliding it satisfying across the table.

“Read your last few messages to Niall,” she barks the order, her eyes still hard and stern. Dad looks equally as disappointed and I’m so fucking confused. I don’t recall ever telling Niall that I’m gay, or anything related to that subject.

Dubiously, I unlock my phone, uncomfortable under the scrutinising gaze of both my parents. I open the messages app and click on my chat with Niall, my mouth forming an  _ O _ shape when I realise why I’m about to be in so much trouble. I only want to know  _ why _ my parents think they’re entitled to scroll through my private messages whenever they want.

I clear my throat before I read. “ _ Hey, mate. What are you doing? Are you serious? WTF, man, why did you spend a month’s worth of your paycheck on sausages? You should make some hot dogs with them- _ ”

“Louis,” Mum interrupts, her gaze as steely as ever. “Do you see what you’ve done wrong?”

My mouth is so dry that I can’t even move my tongue without it aching from dehydration. I look between Dad and Mum, hoping to find a way out but there is none. They’re both looking at me as if I’ve just broken into a bank and mass-shot fifty people; that’s how displeased they look.

“Y-Yeah…?” I stutter in reply, more like a question than anything. I attempt to defend myself, even though there’s literally no use in doing so, “B-But it’s only an acronym…”

Dad shakes his head, his face utterly downcast. “It doesn’t matter, Louis. It’s still implied through the acronym, and if the letters are so easily typed by your fingers, I can’t imagine how normal it is for you to say it aloud.”

Mum jumps in. “Louis, you can’t let these types of unholy curses become  _ normal _ to you. You can’t let them become part of your day-to-day vocabulary. We don’t use that type of language in our house and we didn’t raise you to be so foulmouthed.”

I swallow, more frustrated than anything. I don’t even feel ashamed of my supposed ‘bad language’.

“There are so many alternatives to bad language so I don’t know what prompted you to choose such a phrase,” Mum continues, “You could’ve said  _ wow _ or something similar. There was no need for you to curse.”

I hang my head but it’s only for show. I mumble, “I’m sorry.”

Dad shakes his head and places his hands on the table, clasping his hands together like we’re in a serious business meeting. “No, you shouldn’t be apologising to us, you should be apologising to the Lord. He’s the one who’s been hurt by your usage of bad language.”

I look up slightly and mumble again, “Oh, sorry.”

Mum reaches over the table to squeeze my arm and if she’s trying to console me, then it’s not working. I’m still in shock that they had the audacity to go through my phone and reprimand me for typing just three letters in a particular order. If I’m being honest, I’m pissed.

“We’re going to pray now, okay?” Mum tells me and I nod my head slowly. “Then, you can repent to the Lord and ask for His forgiveness because only he has the power to forgive your doing.”

“Okay,” I mutter, bowing my head as I prepare to pray a prayer that doesn’t come from the heart; it’s more of a bunch of words that my parents would be pleased enough to hear. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’m sorry for using a curse word that I know I shouldn’t have. I pray that You’ll forgive me and help me to refrain from employing such language. I will try my best. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

Both of my parents mutter an  _ amen _ when I finish and though it’s a short prayer, it’ll have to do. I zone out completely as they take turns droning on in some elaborate prayer about how the Lord is merciful and gracious but at the same time, doesn’t condone the use of foul language at all. They both ask for him to forgive me for my sins and wash my mouth, brain and heart clean of derogatory words. I would have only been grateful for their prayers if I actually believed that it’s a sin to not limit one’s vocabulary.

While every bone in me wants to demand from them why they thought it would be okay to just take my phone and look through it, I know I can’t. They’ll only argue that as my parents, they’re entitled to it so they can make sure I’m not browsing inappropriate websites and talking to strangers. I’m lucky, I’ll admit. The  _ WTF _ message to Niall was nothing compared to some things that I’ve seen in the past.

I raise my head when Dad finishes praying and he and Mum make eye contact as if they’re discussing something through their eyes. When they’re finished, Mum turns back to look at me and I subconsciously hold my breath.

“We’ve decided on a punishment for you so you’ll learn from your mistake,” she informs me and I kick myself for forgetting all about receiving repercussions. Of  _ course _ , if I do anything to offend God, I’ll be grounded or something will be taken away from me. No surprise there. “We’re only going to take away your phone for a week but if this ever happens again, the length of time will be doubled. Is that clear?”

I want to argue so badly but I just slump in my chair and nod, sliding my phone across the table so it lands in Mum’s hand. She nods at me curtly before I stand up from my chair and trudge back upstairs to my room. I flop on my bed and while it’s still far too early for my body clock to send me to sleep, I don’t have my phone so I have nothing better to do.

To say I’m mad would be an understatement. To say I’m annoyed would also be an understatement. To say I’m frustrated would be the biggest understatement of all time. I’m a combination of every possible emotion that relates to anger, annoyance and frustration, so much so that I don’t even know what to do with myself. And I know it sounds like I’m making a big deal out of this seemingly minor incident but it’s not just this single event that’s making my blood boil. It’s everything that’s happened in the past few weeks and I’ve officially had it.

I just want to fall asleep and drift out of reality forever.

***

Because I don’t have my phone to preoccupy myself with, by Monday morning, I have thoroughly constructed and formulated an infallible, foolproof plan to come out to Harry. After procrastinating this day for what seems like  _ years _ , I’d be lying if I said that I’m not just a little proud of myself. While my pre-eminent objective is to somehow end up saying the words  _ I’m gay _ to Harry, whether it’d be directly or cryptically, I have also devised a scheme to reassure the other lads that I am  _ not _ gay.

Now, you may be wondering why on earth I even considered adding that to my master plan but it’s all for good measure. At this point in time, I only need one person to know my secret and if that person is anyone, it  _ must _ be Harry because he’s my best mate and the one I fully bank on with my insignificant life. Besides, I have no knowledge about the other lads’ stances on gay marriage and the LGBTQ+ community, of course with the exception of Nick, who I know has always been extremely disgusted by that very concept. And for that reason, Nick is the lad I have to convince that I’m heterosexual the most.

My plan will commence at lunchtime and that’s when I’ll approach Nick to inform him that I’m going to prank Harry by telling him that I have a crush on a boy at my church and through that, Harry will understand that I’m telling him that I’m not straight. Of course, I’m fully aware that it’s extremely unethical to prank someone by telling them that they’re gay but it’s the only way I can think of to save my arse if it comes down to it. The first reason is that Nick has always been a huge and avid fan of pranks, and will no doubt be in on my ‘prank’.

The second reason is that if for whatever reason, Harry decides that he can’t be best mates with someone who’s gay, I’ll be able to back right out and tell him that it’s just a harmless prank, and Nick will be there to back me up. Although, knowing Harry, a reaction like this is something I deem as highly unlikely but as I said before, my scheme is completely foolproof and has absolutely no room for error. God knows what will happen if something goes wrong - I could end up losing all my mates and a rumour could begin to circulate around the whole school, letting my parents know of how much of an abomination I am. My funeral would then come earlier than I anticipate it to.

Mum barely spares a glance at me when I arrive downstairs to each breakfast so I assume she’s not over the incident that took place last night. Wordlessly, I pour myself some cereal and devour it down quickly before I sling my bag over my shoulder and I’m out the door. Chills are already beginning to run down my spine at the mere thought of finally coming out for the first time today (well, perhaps, it’s the second time since the first time was when I came out to myself). It frightens me to death and the cold breeze is really not helping my nerves.

Normally, when I head to school, Zayn catches up to me and we walk there together but since he’s still in the hospital, he’s not here. I’m partially relieved because if he was here, he’d immediately spot that something’s off with me and would ask me questions that I’m not ready for. But on the other hand, Zayn often goes off on tangents about the really exciting dream he had the night before and that would probably distract me and do my anxiety some good.

I realise that I’ve never been so jumpy in my life as I sit through my classes throughout the first half of the day. I find myself quivering my leg up and down rapidly and tapping my pen on the table like I’m playing some sort of tremolo on a drum set. I stare out of the window most of the time, wishing for the birds to lift me up by their feet and carry me up to the clouds, away from here. At one instance, one of the girls in my class taps me on the shoulder and I nearly jump five metres into the air, my heart dropping as I wonder if someone has put a sign on my back that reads  _ i’m gay, kick me _ . To my relief, she only needs to borrow a pen but she looks at me strangely when I hand it to her.

During geography class, Ms Frienche picks on me to answer question three but I don’t hear her because I’m too busy listening to all the nervous thoughts that are running around my head. When I can’t answer the question because I wasn’t paying attention when we read through the textbook, she ends up singling me out in front of the whole class and giving me a lecture about being respectful to the teachers who stay up all night to plan the next lesson. It’s quite a humiliating moment, I’ll admit, but luckily, this class has a seating plan, so Liam can only send me concerned looks from the other side of the room. I wouldn’t be able to keep my guard up if he asks me questions that I can’t answer without not looking into his eyes.

At first break, I decide that the safest place to stay away from the lads is in the library because none of them really spend time there. Except, that was not the best choice on my part because I neglect to remember that Harry is a huge bookworm so of course, he’s right there waiting for me when I enter. He smiles when he notices me and beckons me over, forcing me to walk towards him begrudgingly. A few seconds after we exchange greetings, I excuse myself to the toilet, saying that I’ve been holding it in since the beginning of the day. I try to be as convincing as possible but I’m such a shit liar and Harry can tell whenever I’m lying. His face falls when I make my way towards the exit of the library and guilt pools at the bottom of my stomach because I know he recognises that I’m trying to avoid him.

I spend the rest of the break sitting on the toilet lid, with my head in my hands, in the fifth cubicle on the left-hand side of the bathroom because Harry knows that I always go for the first one on the right. My breath catches in my throat every time someone enters the bathroom and at one point, someone comes in and retreats back out almost immediately. I don’t want anyone to find me because that will only pull me further towards the edge of the cliff. I’ve barely spoken a word today but I fear that if I do, I’ll end up accidentally spilling everything that’s weighing on my heart. That’s one of my worst nightmares.

During maths, I realise that there’s only an hour left until I come clean to Harry and it’s the first time I’ve wanted maths to run overtime. I’d do anything to stall the beginning of lunch. I’d even start up a rave so the teacher gets frustrated and keeps us in as a punishment. Even five minutes extra would be alright. I can’t concentrate at all throughout the lesson and my spirits don’t heighten when I receive my geometry test back with a large  _ A+ _ printed on the front, circled in red. I feel like a whole zoo of butterflies has infested my stomach as I watch the second hand on the clock tick faster than usual.

When the bell for lunchtime eventually rings, I’m just about ready to be swallowed up by the black hole. I don’t care if I have to spend the rest of my life floating around in space with nothing to eat or drink, no one to talk to and nothing to do. I unwillingly trudge back to the locker room, not making eye contact with anyone whatsoever and flinching at nearly every accidental contact. I unlock my lock and fling open my locker door, shoving my books inside before shutting the door, only to come face to face with Nick.

“Louis!” he exclaims happily, obviously not deterred one bit by our conversation on Saturday. “I haven’t seen you all day, mate! Where have you been?”

I turn my head to cough into my shoulder, goosebumps rising on my skin as my heart starts pumping furiously. “Um, I’ve been in class…?”

It comes out more like a question than an answer but Nick doesn’t seem to pick up on it. Instead, he slings his arm around my shoulder and walks me out of the locker room. He makes some comment about Niall and chicken wings before leading me down the stairs to the main hall area. I decide that this is the most appropriate time to let Nick in on my plan to  _ prank _ Harry - when he’s alone. I abruptly grab his arm and drag him towards a corner that’s far away from everyone else.

“Woah, there,” he says, his voice bumpy as I pull on his arm. “What are you doing?”

I position Nick so he’s backed in the corner, our faces too close for my liking but it’s only so I can explain everything to him in somewhat of a hushed whisper. I can only hope that he doesn’t make some sort of obnoxious, inadvertent remark that will let the entire school know about what I’m doing.

“Listen, Nick,” I begin, watching his dark eyes closely so I know that he’s paying attention, “I’m about to prank Harry but you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes as his face lights up and smile widens, as if he’s a child, excited to play the best prank in the world (Nick’s definition of  _ the best prank in the world _ is putting a  _ kick me _ sign on someone’s back).

“Awesome! What’s going to happen in the prank?” he asks, somewhat loudly and my eyes widen. I shake my head frantically and wave my arms around to get him to shut up. He seems to get the message and closes his mouth, looking sheepish.

“I’m going to tell him that I’m gay, which is  _ obviously _ not true,” I tell him, the latter half of the sentence making me cringe heavily, but Nick is naive so he wouldn’t suspect a thing, “And then I’m going to tell him that I have a crush on someone from my church.”

“That’s a sick prank, man!” Nick beams, cackling like a fucking kookaburra. “Are you doing that now?”

“Yeah, during lunch. Can you please do me a favour and keep the other lads preoccupied?” I request.

He nods like an obedient, little schoolboy. “‘Course! Anything to help with the prank!”

“Thanks,” I tell him monotonously. “But  _ please _ don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t you worry, mate! My lips are sealed!” Nick grins, moving his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion. “When are you going to tell Harry that it’s not a prank?”

Well, that’s one thing I hadn’t thought about yet. I tilt my head to the side and look up at the ceiling as I make up my mind. “Well, since it’s just a fun, little prank, I don’t want to keep him in the dark for  _ too _ long… maybe, I’ll tell him after school?”

“Sounds great,” he says and I give him a tight smile before his ecstatic expression drops and is replaced by a confused and curious one. “By the way, I called you last night. Why didn’t you pick up or call me back?”

Oh, of course, he called me. I wouldn’t have wanted to pick up whether I had my phone or not anyway.

“Sorry,” I reply nonchalantly. “My parents took away my phone.”

Nick looks horrified and bemused. “What? How come?”

“They caught me using ‘bad language’ with Niall,” I respond, rolling my eyes and pausing for a moment. “Did you need to tell me something?”

He holds up his hands and shakes his head. “No, no, I can tell you later. You go do your prank and tell me how it goes later!”

It’s the only time I want to talk to Nick longer and he pushes me away. Why are none of my stalling strategies working?

Before I can even fit in a goodbye, Nick’s already skipping away from me, leaving me alone to stare at the corner where the brick wall meets the painted wall. With a heavy sigh, I turn on my heel and reluctantly make my way towards the library where I suspect Harry already is reading a new book. I’ve half a mind to find Nick again and tell him that I was actually pranking him by telling him that I’m going to prank Harry. Then we could both just forget about it and pretend this whole thing never happened. But I’ve already made it so far. I’d be a coward to repudiate now.

It’s the second time that I enter the library today and it seems even more foreign to me now. Perhaps, the librarians moved some things around or maybe it’s simply my vision playing up because of how anxious I am. I feel a little dizzy and I almost walk straight into a bookshelf, which would’ve been a catastrophe (although it may be a useful delaying tactic, if I have to spend the rest of lunch picking up books). Yeah, I could probably do with some sleep at the moment… if I just… lay down on one of the beanbags and close my eyes…

“Lou?”

My attention snaps towards the sound of the deep, gravelly voice calling my name and I nearly get a headache from how fast my head whips around. I swear I’m about to pass out as my eyes struggle to focus on the figure standing in front of me and I lift up my hand to place it on my head. When all the fuzz is gone from my vision, I realise that Harry’s standing about half a metre away from me with two, thick books in his. His head is tilted to the side and he’s looking at me, his eyes full of concern and his eyebrows furrowed.

Maybe if I make a dash for the exit, he’ll think that he was just hallucinating and will forget that this encounter ever happened. It could be worth a shot. I’m on the verge of running for my life when I flinch at the feeling of a hand resting on my shoulder.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asks, his voice oddly soothing as he squeezes my arm. 

Still in a daze, I nod my head languorously, as a natural response to the common question. Black spots are beginning to form around the edges of my vision and I want to swat them away like they’re flies. I feel like my legs are about to turn into jelly and give way, causing me to collapse on the floor like a helpless heap. I’m  _ so _ fucking nervous.

It’s almost a split-second decision when my body decides to finally cooperate and my vision fully clears. No longer under a dizzy spell, I will myself to turn my head and look Harry in the eyes.

“I-I’m fine,” I stammer, my voice slightly croaky from my lack of speaking today. “Can I talk to you?”

Albeit with confusion still filling his eyes, he nods slowly and removes his hand from my shoulder so he can quickly place his books on the return trolley. He resumes his position in front of me and looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to start talking.

I swallow and shake my head numbly. “Not here.”

I take a hold of his wrist and lead him out of the library, my heart hurdling in my chest at the skin to skin contact. My hand feels all tingly and hot so as soon as we exit the library, I let go of his wrist and just hope that he follows me. In dead silence, I head towards an area outside of the main school building that I know for a fact no one ever visits. The place is made up of three logs that are positioned in a square shape, with a large, shady tree as the last side. 

When we arrive at the tree, I gulp down my nerves, only for them to rise back up to my throat again. Harry leans with his back against the tree, his eyebrow raised as he waits for me to divulge everything that’s consuming my mind. My chest tightens and my gaze falls down to his feet. One of his shoelaces is untied, which is probably a very dangerous safety hazard. He could probably trip over that and I would have to perform CPR on him - I’m drifting off into quite perilous territory.

The roots of the tree are suddenly quite interesting because they’re pretty large and much of it is above ground. Someone could probably straddle one of the roots and pleasure themselves- I’m going off on an obscene tangent again, aren’t I? Actually, I don’t think anyone would enjoy sitting on one of the roots because I can see about thirty ants crawling up and down, some disappearing into a hole in the tree and others coming out of it. I hate ants. I, personally, think that ants are the worst type of insect to ever be created. They’re just so tiny and gross, and they infiltrate your personal space like it’s their fucking business, which it most definitely is not.

Beside the roots of the tree, I spot three or four dandelions sprouting and all of them are shedding their florets rather quickly. When I was younger, I used to love dandelions because they didn’t look like ordinary flowers, but then I figured that they made me sneeze constantly and I realised that I don’t even like flowers anyway. I much prefer weeds because they’re plain and green, and they don’t look at me like they’re monsters, waiting to devour me up like I’m simply a slice of bread. Speaking of weeds, there are a lot of weeds growing around the roots of the tree. I wonder if the school has a special gardener who weeds this place before it gets too crowded.

There are also a few ladybugs making their way up slowly on the side of the tree trunk. Can you imagine what it’d be like to be a ladybug - the prettiest insect of all time? Well, to be fair,  _ no _ insect is pretty, in fact, all of them are quite ugly, if you think about it. Ladybugs just happen to be an insect with a type of pattern that is somewhat aesthetically pleasing. However, I disregard the (not really) beautiful mien of ladybugs because of how awful and disgusting their excretion looks. If I was a ladybug, I’d be  _ ashamed _ to have that type of slimy, yellow substance coming out of my arsehole. If ladybugs didn’t excrete something that horrifying, perhaps, I may have considered giving them a chance.

I must have been stalling for too long because suddenly, Harry is standing in front of me, holding my hand with one of his and brushing my fringe away from my eyes with the other. I almost jump backwards and trip over a log in shock (luckily I don’t because I would’ve landed on my arse and that would’ve been embarrassing).

“You’re stalling,” he states the obvious and my stomach twists as he runs his thumb over my knuckles.

I gulp the lump that has formed in my throat yet again and stare at the same place on the ground, refusing to look him in the eyes.

“I know,” I murmur, my voice nearly at a whispering level. Fuck, I hope he can’t feel how fast my heart is beating through my hand.

He all of a sudden places two fingers under my chin and tilts my head up so I’m forced to look at him. His eyebrows continue to furrow and his deep, green orbs are swimming with concern. I could stall even further by just staring at the perfection that is his face.

“You know you can tell me anything, okay?” he reassures me, his voice low and gruff but still not encouraging in the least.

I can’t even bear to look at him now so I remove my hand from his and step away, walking towards another log and standing on it. He turns around and follows my movement, curiosity written all over his pretty face. I begin to pace back and forth on the log. 

“I know,” I repeat slightly insensibly.

My mind is fogged as I contemplate how to start off the conversation. I curse myself for not thinking through the actual exchange before jumping head first into it. If only I had planned this out beforehand, then maybe I wouldn’t just be repeatedly saying  _ I know _ . The only thing I know at the moment is that I need time… 

I look over to Harry and he’s got his hands shoved into his pockets but his eyes are gazing at the forest beyond the fence that encloses the school. To an outsider, it may seem like he’s not paying attention to me but I know better than that. He’s looking away so I don’t feel intimidated under his scrutiny while I spill what’s on my mind. I’ve chosen the correct person to tell.

After another half-minute of stalling, I finally snap and start rambling.

“So, I know it’s kinda really weird and strange that I brought you here to talk to you but I really wanted to tell you something that’s been weighing on my mind for a long time. A  _ really _ long time, and I probably should’ve told you earlier but I was just really scared… I mean, I’m still scared right now.  _ So _ scared, in fact,” I ramble but I feel like I’m speaking to the air because I’m facing my back to Harry. I’m too terrified to actually look at him. “And I needed to get you alone because I don’t know how the other lads will react… well, I don’t even know how  _ you _ will react, so that’s why I’m sort of really scared. I’m, like,  _ terrified _ , to the point that my hands are going to fall off and right now, I’d really like to bury myself alive in a hole and hibernate there forever, kinda like a squirrel-”

“Lou, there’s no need to be scared,” Harry interrupts and a freeze in my tracks because his voice is considerably closer than it would be if he was still standing on the other log. I don’t turn to look at him. “I won’t judge you, I promise, and I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

I inhale deeply and fiddle with the hem of my jumper. I pull my sleeves over my hands to warm them up and stop them from shaking before I continue stalling.

“Yeah, I know you won’t b-but that doesn’t make me any less scared!” I begin the next segment of my blabbering. “And I’ve never told anyone this before, not even my parents… I mean, I  _ can’t _ tell my parents or else they’d sacrifice me alive like a freaking sacrificial lamb! But I’m still worried that when, or if, I tell you, you’ll think of me differently or you won’t want to be my friend anymore, but I can’t lose our friendship because you mean too much to me and you’re, like, the only one who understands me and if that happened, I’d stay in my room and cry on my bed for the rest of my life and, and I wouldn’t know what to do with myself-”

I don’t realise that my hands are messing up my hair until a gentle hand touches one of my arms and nudges it away from my head. I slowly let them both down to rest limply on either side of my body.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry cuts in, his voice full of confidence and it slightly reassures me, but I can never be too convinced. 

I slowly turn around to look down at him and sure enough, the only thing I can see in his eyes is sincerity. There is not even a hint of doubt or a speck of dishonesty.

“Promise?” I whisper apprehensively, holding out my pinkie like we used to do when we were younger.

“Promise,” he says, wrapping his pinky around mine and nodding to seal it.

Aside from the wave of nostalgia that washes over me, I realise that now I’m too deep into the conversation and now it’s time for me to come clean, but fucking damn it! I haven’t had enough time to plan out what I’m going to say or how I’m going to say it! I haven’t worked out how I’m going to respond to every single question or statement that Harry could potentially think of! I need more  _ time _ .

I gulp, my eyes falling to the leaf-coated ground. “Well, um, the thing is… I, uh, I-I think I like someone…?”

It’s not completely devoid of truth but when put into context, my stomach clenches because I’m about to make up a whole story about some crush I have, that’s not Harry, and blabber about it.

Harry’s face remains stoic when I say that and gives me a simple nod to tell me that he’s following along. While he has a nonchalant expression, I can still see a hint of softness in his eyes.

“Do I know this person?” he raises a question and I really should’ve planned ahead because my eyes widen and I shake my head profusely. If he notices how dramatic I’m being, he doesn’t let it show.

“No,” I lie, the words not rolling off my tongue as well as they usually do whenever I lie. “They’re... they’re from my church.”

Harry seems somewhat satisfied with my answer, even though I stuttered big time. “Oh, so does Liam?”

I’m a little taken aback by how many questions Harry’s asking but I presume it’s just another strategy for him to make me feel comfortable. He knows how much I despise one-sided conversations because I hate drawing attention to myself alone. I suppose I should just be grateful that he’s trying his best to make me feel secure... however, it doesn’t make me any less scared to tell him.

I tilt my head to the side, trying to come up with an appropriate and believable answer. “I’m not sure... maybe? Their family just joined recently.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “So it’s a recent crush?”

I guess another reason why Harry’s asking all these questions is because he knows that I’ll never end up telling him anything unless he draws it out of me. But shit, I’m really getting deep into this lie!

I nod tentatively, my neck too stiff to support my head as it moves so my nod turns out to become a sort of head roll. “I suppose you could call it that.”

There’s a slight pause after I say that and I wonder if I should continue or wait for Harry to say something first. I decide to go through with the latter because there’s nothing wrong with stalling a little longer, right?

He shrugs. “So, what’s the problem? It’s not like anyone’s going to tease you for having a crush...”

He then begins to eye me carefully and I shrink a little under his gaze. I have two options - I could escape the conversation by high jumping over the fence and into the forest, potentially scathing myself and landing on my arse in the process (I’m far too short to be able to make the jump anyway), or I could tell him everything now so I don’t chicken out later. I don’t think I can even bear to see his reaction to something this big and... sort of frowned upon... oh, but I just need more time to stall...

I clear my throat and begin my response, “Well, you see, the problem is...” I trail off, refusing to meet his eyes. I slump my shoulders and hang my head, barely whispering the next part of my confession, “it’s a guy...”

I can’t bring myself to look up after I drop the bomb and I suddenly become very aware that Harry is listening intently to my every word. He’s taking in everything I say and analysing it, forming his own conclusions about me in his mind. I don’t know whether he’s broken his promise of not judging me because I can’t see what’s going in his head but at the same time, I really don’t want to know what he’s thinking... What if he’s absolutely disgusted by my admission? What if he never wants to be associated with me ever again? What if he hates me? Oh, god... he probably does now...

I don’t register that tears have started cascading down my face until I see one drop and land on my shoe. My nose has begun to get a little stuffy and I’m finding it harder and harder to breathe through it. I try to breathe through my mouth but my chest is quickly tightening up and all I can manage are sporadic, rugged gasps for air. My shoulders shake as I keep my head down and squeeze my eyes shut, wishing that the tears would go away. I need. To stop. Crying!

Alarmed at how quickly I transitioned to my current state, Harry hurriedly jumps up on the log and he rushes to wrap his arms around my quivering figure. Everything is foggy - my brain, my vision, my breathing, my hearing, my feelings and my sense of touch. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’m not sad or angry, I’m definitely not happy or excited, but I’m also not... anything... I feel so helpless; I feel like a baby who keeps falling down because it doesn’t know how to use its legs properly yet.

I barely manage to comprehend the fact that Harry has me in his arms now, one of his hands rubbing circles on my back as the other cradles the back of my head. He’s muttering something in my ear but I can’t understand what he’s saying over how loud my jagged breaths are. I have my face burrowed in the side of his neck where his head and shoulder meet but I probably shouldn’t rest my head there, in case I get his shirt wet or something. I squeeze my eyes tighter again, a few more tears escaping and racing each other down my face.

What the fuck is even happening?

I slowly lift my trembling hands up, under his arms and I grip onto his shoulders for dear life, as if by doing so, it’ll save me. Harry really is my lifesaver, anyway. His touch, his words, his voice... they always find a way to calm me down. If given the chance to stay in his arms forever, I’d take it immediately, no questions asked. But unfortunately, Harry pulls away as soon as my breathing becomes regular again. The length of time he held me for seemed far too short.

When his face is far back enough for me to focus on it, I realise that he has a worried expression on his face; it’s more worried than I’ve ever seen him look before. His eyes look like they’re on the verge of leaking too and that’s enough for my own eyes to be clouded with tears again. I’m pretty sure I look like an ugly fuck right now, with my eyes swollen and large, and my nose practically dripping. My lip quivers as he wipes some of my tears away with the pads of his thumbs. 

He’s cupping my face now, with both of his hands, and it makes me feel special - like I’m sort of prized possession that he holds dear to his heart. But, I know I’m never going to be that special someone in his life so I might as well savour the feeling while it lasts. He’s looking at me with an expression that I can’t decipher and his mouth opens like he’s going to say something before he closes it again.

“I’m so proud of you,” is the first thing he says and my heart swells in my chest. I just nod frantically because I don’t know if or how I’m supposed to respond. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

I hiccup and let out a small whimper as he caresses my cheeks gently, his eyes searching my face. I stammer, “O-Okay.”

He removes his hands from my face and lets them slide down my arms until he’s holding both of my hands. He gives me a small smile which I try my best to return, but my mouth is still quivering too much to form a smile.

“You’re so brave,” he tells me and I’m glad that my cheeks are already stained red from bawling my eyes out.

“Thanks,” I mutter, dropping my head down in embarrassment as he squeezes my hands. That seems like enough of a response for him because he just continues standing there and watching me.

“Come on,” he says suddenly, jumping off of the log and tugging on my hands so I follow suit. “Let’s sit here and we can talk.”

I sit down next to Harry and lean my head on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around me, rubbing my arm up and down soothingly. It feels so comfortable sitting here with him like this that I can’t imagine not having this in my life. I know it won’t last long, though. Nothing ever does.

“So tell me about this boy you like,” Harry suggests and I can feel the vibrations in his neck as he talks.

My breath hitches in my throat because I haven’t actually created an imaginary boy in my mind to illustrate but if I just describe Harry, he’ll catch on too quickly and realise that he’s the boy that I like. That can’t happen.

“Well, um, as I said before, I’ve only known him for a short time,” I fabricate. “I’ve only talked to him a few times but he’s really nice, I guess... very friendly and funny. He’s quite attractive too.”

My vague response is nothing compared to how I would describe Harry if someone asked (except Harry, himself, of course). These words are the epitome of basic, dull descriptors and would never do Harry justice.

“Sounds like a nice enough lad,” Harry muses, his voice far away and thoughtful. “If you ever decide to act on your feelings, will I need to have a talk with him?”

I manage a faint laugh that doesn’t come from the heart. “You’re tripping if you think I’m ever going to tell him... so the answer is no, you won’t need to have a talk with him.”

It’s only the truth and if Harry’s really psychic like he always jokingly says, he’ll know why. But, obviously, he doesn’t and I can practically feel the frown forming on his face, even though I’m not looking at him.

“What? Why?”

I slightly angle my head so I’m looking up at him and I give him a look. “Haz, he’s from my conservative, Christian church and I hate to assume but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be open to that.”

Harry shrugs slightly, causing my head to rise and fall with his shoulder. He tells me pensively, “You never know."

I snort. “Sure. Maybe in my wildest dreams.”

Harry stays silent at that and just continues to rub my arm up and down, occasionally squeezing it for good measure.

“So have you ever had crushes on, you know, girls before?” he asks, his voice careful and hesitant, like he’s not sure whether the question will trigger me or not.

I shake my head slightly and reply softly, “No, not really...”

“Oh, well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” he tells me with a simple shrug. “Was just curious.”

I hum as I trace random patterns on Harry’s open palm that’s laying on his leg. I have so much more that I want to tell Harry but everything involves things that he can’t know. Today could’ve just been on the brink of ruining our friendship and I worry that if I tell him anything further, it’ll be over for good.

I stop tracing patterns on his palm and move my hand back to my lap, opening my mouth slowly to ask the question that’s been lingering at the back of my mind for a while now, “Haz, me being gay... it doesn’t change anything about us, does it?”

If Harry tenses up, it’s only a short second before he’s relaxed again and back to rubbing my arm. He kicks at one of the leaves on the ground.

“‘Course not,” he answers but I can tell that his mind is elsewhere. He adds, “As long as you don’t hit on me ‘cause I’m straight.”

Fucking  _ ouch _ .

I know it’s supposed to be a meaningless passing comment but it hits me like a truck loaded with ten tonnes of bricks. My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach and my mouth runs dry. I should never have gotten my hopes up. I should never have dreamt about having a future with Harry. I should never have wishes that he’d not be straight. Now, I know for sure that I’ll never have a chance with him because he’s straight.

As always, I try to mask my internal hurt with somewhat of a witty comeback but it feels forced and comes out heavily, not rolling off my tongue easily like usual.

“Oi, some people have standards,” I joke, faking a smile to convince both myself and Harry.

I didn’t know it was possible for one of my dreams to be fulfilled and one of them to be crushed within the span of ten minutes. But I suppose it is.

***

For the rest of the day, Harry sticks to my side like we’re permanently attached to each other with the most durable superglue. He treats me like I’m frangible and delicate, and I’m going to break if anyone so much as breathes a word to me. I’ll admit that it’s marginally overbearing but at the same time, its endearment overshadows that. If anything, I’m just thankful that Harry hasn’t fled my presence because I’ve just revealed to him that I’m attracted to guys.

But it all comes crashing down after school, when Harry and I are minding our own businesses and strolling down a path, to the side of a narrow side street. The light breeze is breaking through our hair and Harry looks like a Greek god with his hair flying out of his face, displaying the perfection in all its glory. I try to keep my head facing forwards, in fear of inadvertently commenting something about how gorgeous Harry is and potentially spilling all of my feelings about him, and I bask in the sunlight as it takes the chill off of my face.

“I went to a cinema once and the bloke next to me took up  _ both _ of the bloody armrests,” Harry recounts to me, gesturing dramatically like it’s the worst thing that could ever happen to him. “He was a pretty burly guy too, so poor me had to endure the whole movie, squished up in my seat like I was merely a soft toy.”

I roll my eyes at his histrionics, chipping in, “Well, to be fair, no one  _ really _ knows which armrest is theirs, so that guy was just being smart and took both armrests before anyone else could.”

“How  _ greedy _ ,” Harry chafes, wrinkling his nose. “I think someone should decide, once and for all, which armrest belongs to each seat.”

“Realistically, if you think about it, the majority of the world is right-handed so they need to use their right hands to do stuff,” I propose logically. “Therefore, they need the left armrest to rest their left arms on.”

“But what about all the left-handed people?” Harry questions.

“I literally just said  _ majority _ ,” I emphasise, shrugging. “I guess they’ll just have to take up the aisle seats.”

“How inconvenient, though, for left-handed people,” Harry says. “I’m sure all the left-handed people out there are exceptionally insulted by that suggestion.  _ Niall _ would be wounded.”

I snort. “He wouldn’t even be in the cinema anyway. He’d be out at the snack bar-”

“Lads!” I hear a familiar voice call from behind us and I fight the urge to groan out loud.

A patter of footsteps gradually increases volume as Nicholas Grimshaw approaches us and places one of his hands on Harry and my shoulders, leaning on us as he regains his breath. When he’s done being tired, he looks back and forth between us with a silly grin on his face. I don’t think I’ll ever be in the mood to have a conversation (except for when I was stalling at lunchtime).

“Hey, Nick. What’s up?” Harry waves at him, a friendly smile stretching on his face. He briefly looks over, making apathetic eye contact with me.

Nick squeezes himself in between us and continues walking along breezily as if he’s not just interrupted our conversation.

“Just enjoying this wonderful, sunny weather as usual!” he responds, chirpily as the sun lights up his skin, making it glow. “I bet Rosie’s enjoying it just as much as I am!”

“You got a girlfriend now?” Harry questions with his eyebrows high on his forehead.

Nick’s expression immediately contorts to one of disgust. “Oh,  _ Gosh _ , no! What do you take me for? I’m not  _ that _ promiscuous! Rosie’s my horse!”

I’m taken aback by how taken aback he was by Harry’s genuinely innocent questions but Nick seems to recover from his outburst almost straight away, his face turning cheerful again.

“So, lads, anything interesting going on in your lives that you’d like to share?” he inquires.

“My sisters have somehow managed to convince my parents to get a dog,” I offer and Nick beams.

“Wicked!” he exclaims. “Maybe your dog can hang out with mine sometime. Cinny’s been so lonely lately.”

Cinny is the nickname of Nick’s dog, Cinnamon. She’s got fur that’s as white as snow. I can’t put two and two together.

“What about you, Harry?” Nick asks.

Harry shrugs and kicks at a stray pebble on the path. “Nothing much… just enjoying my life, you know?”

“Yeah, of course, I know!” Nick replies, staying silent before a lightbulb goes off in his head. He leans over to whisper in my ear, narrowing his eyes at me. “Have you told him yet?”

I furrow my eyebrows. “Told him what?”

“About the prank?” he elaborates and my eyes widen.

“Is someone going to let me in on whatever you two are whispering about?” Harry’s voice calls from the other side of Nick but it sounds even more distant as my brain goes into high alert mode.

“No, I haven’t and I don’t plan-” I hiss back frantically, my words rushed and hurried.

Nick leans away from me before I can finish and places a hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving him a lazy grin. I grab Nick’s arm and tug on it repetitively, a panic-stricken expression flooding my face.

“So, Harry…” he begins, sickeningly sweet and ignoring my silent protests. Shit, shit, shit! “Anything exciting happen today?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. “No, not really… why do you ask?”

“Oh, Harry, dear,” Nick laughs lightly. “You’ve always been  _ so _ naive.”

“No, no, Nick! Stop!” I whisper pleadingly but he continues to brush off my outcry. “Please!”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Harry questions, looking slightly offended and I stare at him with wide, terrified eyes. He’s not looking back at me.

“It means,” Nick starts, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and grinning. “Lou and I have been planning this for  _ weeks _ now but it looks like it worked!”

Weeks?  _ Weeks _ ?! Sirens are going off in my head and I’m on the verge of slapping Nick unconscious just so that he’ll shut up. I don’t understand why he feels the need to blatantly lie like this! What is he even trying to do?

“You’ve been planning what? I’m so confused,” Harry puzzles, scratching his head and by now, I’m jumping up and down in hopes of grabbing his attention. It doesn’t work, though, because he’s wrapped up in getting Nick to finally spill the beans.

“The prank!” Nick exclaims and I mentally repeatedly facepalm myself so hard that my forehead goes red and starts bruising. “You know… the one at lunchtime when Lou told you that he’s gay?”

I feel another wave of dizziness hit me as Harry’s face goes inexplicably hard and his jaw clenches firmly. His entire body tenses up and his eyebrows are furrowed in straight, rigid lines, creating a stony frown on his forehead. No, no, he looks so much better when he’s smiling… I want him to keep smiling. His eyes are suddenly filled with an emotion that I’ve never seen them contain before; it looks something like… betrayal… and oh my god my whole life is over. Everything is spinning and it’s all so blurry and I’m so helpless right now that I could probably just curl up in a ball on the side of the path and cry. Yeah, maybe I should… maybe I should just do that… 

“Oh my gosh, you  _ totally _ fell for it!” I hear Nick exclaim in my peripheral hearing but I can’t… I can’t focus because it’s all too much and I-I can’t think straight and I just want to collapse and fall unconscious forever… “You didn’t think Louis’  _ actually _ gay, right? He was just messing with you and having a fun laugh.”

Why is the grass blue and why is the sky green? Why are they both blending together into a sort of aqua colour? Why is everything moving a-and how am  _ I _ moving? Why’s the path so squiggly? I could’ve sworn it used to be straight. Why’s the road moving- _ No _ ! It’s running away from me! Bring it back to me…

“It was a very funny prank,” I hear Harry say but there is not a hint of a laugh in his voice. In fact, it’s completely devoid of humour and is only filled with coldness and sarcasm. 

“Wasn’t it?” I hear Nick say brightly. “I thought it was quite brilliant myself!”

No, it wasn’t. It was a terrible,  _ terrible _ prank. Shit, the quicksand has already engulfed me up to my shoulders. I’ll be fully submerged soon.

“Ingenious, indeed,” Harry replies, austere and frigid.

I want to look at him and tell him with my eyes that it wasn’t actually a prank but my fucking head won’t move in the direction that I want it to. Why…  _ why _ is it not working?! That’s it, my entire body is malfunctioning. I’m going into overdrive.

“Lads, I’m off here. Good day,” Harry says and I can only just make out his blur of a figure getting smaller and smaller as he walks away from us.

I want to reach out for him and bring him back into my arms but I can’t. I can’t do it and I’m so frustrated and angry and I want to scream. I want to scream so loud that Nick’s fucking ears will burst like an erupting volcano and the lava will burn him. I want my scream to affect every living and breathing being on the earth, except for Harry because he doesn’t deserve that. I just need… I don’t know what I need… 

“Mate, you should’ve seen his face!” Nick tells me, not noticing how distracted and out of it I am. I want to snap at him that I’m well aware of how cheated on his face looked as his eyes burned holes in my head. I’m well aware of how much he hates me now. “Right, well I’ll be going now. See you tomorrow!”

I manage to lift up my hand and wave at him pathetically, my hand falling to my side limply when he turns his back. I can’t even focus on the large details of his house, like the large tree in the middle of the front lawn or the stairs that lead up to his front door. Hell, I don’t even know what street I’m on! My feet involuntarily carry me to the edge of the path and I squint my eyes to read the street sign. I can’t read it. I’m so dizzy. Oh my god.

I’m exhausted and borderline dead when I step onto my porch an hour and a half later.

***

That night, I trudge up to my bedroom and slam the door behind me so I can flop on my bed and cry in peace. I, then, force myself to take a shower, my tears mixing with the water as they both fall down the drain. I manage myself to stop myself from bursting into tears at the dinner table but no one notices anyway, because my parents don’t address me. After a fifteen-minute study session, a few of my textbook’s pages are stained with salty tears. It doesn’t matter, though, because I was just reading the words without actually understanding what they meant.

Maybe Karma is really out to get me, huh. Last night, my parents took away my phone so I can’t text my friends anything, even if it’s urgent. Now, I can’t even call Harry to explain myself and apologise for the ‘prank’. It makes me sick to the stomach, the thought of him sitting on his bed with his head in his hands, feeling utterly betrayed by the lad that he once called his  _ best mate _ . He’ll be thinking of me as a traitor for the next twelve hours before I get a chance to justify my actions… well, that’s if he's even  _ willing _ to stand listening to me tomorrow.

I still hate my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was actually the way I came out to my best friend for the first time... yeah, it was pretty tragic. I mean, I didn't actually cry but I was definitely having an internal meltdown. In my first author's note, I said that most of my characters are based on people who actually exist in my life. I just want to clarify that Nick is quite an exaggerated version of one of my friends for the purpose of this story; my friend is tamer (but most of the things that happened with Nick in this chapter happened with my friend). Lmao, and the part where Louis gets punished for sending the text 'WTF' to Niall also happened to me too. However, luckily I've learnt how to hide my text conversations better now :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has continued to read this story and an extra special thanks to the people who have taken the time to comment. I usually get email notifications about them when I wake up (because I'm in Australia so the timezone is pretty different from most) and they really brighten my day from the start.
> 
> I hope all of you are staying safe and healthy x


	7. He's Not Mad At Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis talk it out, and Nick is annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy everyone, sorry this is late. i forgot to post yesterday.
> 
> happy reading !

The next morning, I wake up in a daze, my brain still failing to comprehend what played out the previous afternoon. I had a dreamless sleep but as soon as I drift into consciousness, all of the thoughts come back to me like a series of boulders. I’m crushed underneath the weight of the large rocks and I’d rather stay squashed than face today. Unfortunately, I know I have to, even though my bed is my safe haven.

The atmosphere around me shifts to lively and energetic as soon as I enter the building because it’s the fiftieth anniversary of the school being established. There are red, green and black ribbons hanging from various window sills, as well as balloons floating everywhere. I even spot one of the teacher’s, dressed in the graduating uniform, handing out sweets to whoever passes by her. But I’m not feeling the spirit at all. As a matter of fact, my mood is all the way on the other end of the spectrum.

I let out a shriek and flinch as someone suddenly pounces on me. I spin around, only to be met with Niall’s wide, smiling face. It’s literally centimetres away from my own and I step back to keep the distance as well as my dignity.

“Louis!” he beams, his teeth white and pearly (but still crooked), and his face practically giving as much light off as Alpha Centauri A. If only he’d transfer some of his gaiety to me. “Guess who’s not single anymore!”

My mouth drops open and I gape at him in astonishment, my eyes wide like saucepans. “No…”

“Yes,” he grins wider still.

“ _ No _ ,” I emphasise, shocked to the core by his unforeseen announcement… well, it was definitely unforeseen to me.

“I’m not taking the piss,” he tells me and if possible, my mouth drops open even more.

“Ni, that’s amazing!” I exclaim, suddenly forgetting all about my problems in order to celebrate his victories. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks, mate,” he tells me as I envelop him in a warm hug. “Means a lot.”

I pull away and study Niall’s exuberant face. He looks as if he could touch the sky. “It’s Julia, right?”

He nods proudly and my face softens because he’s literally been pining over this girl, Julia, for a few years now. I’ve endured rant after rant about her and how she’s always neglected to take notice of him. Now, it looks like both of them have finally gotten their act together and recognised how they feel about each other.

Niall falls into step with me as I walk in the direction of the locker area and I nudge him gently. “So, how’d it happen?”

I’m unable to stop a small smile from forming on my face as I watch his eyes light up like a  _ Warm White _ LED light bulb. The emotion within his blue orbs is enough to tell me that he’s completely smitten.

“Not going to lie, it was kind of an accident,” he begins to recall. “One of me mum’s friends was hosting a dinner for National Pizza Day and Jules just so happened to be there. She and I were the only teenagers there so we started playing pool together and one thing led to another.”

I shoot Niall a wary look. “Niall, don’t tell me you did  _ stuff _ on the pool table…”

“Of course, not!” Niall exclaims, holding up his hands in defence. “There were five-year-olds in the same room!”

“Then how the hell did ‘one thing lead to another’ while there were  _ kids _ in the room?” I ask in disbelief, my voice rising up an octave.

I hide a grin behind my hand as the back of Niall’s neck turns a little red. “Well, you see, the kids were preoccupied with the TV so I, you know, snuck in a small kiss. So, we went to the, um, bathroom.”

My face goes slack and I groan. “Not the bathtub…”

Niall shoves me hard on the shoulder and I nearly trip over my own feet and fall into a group of girls. “God, Louis, you’re such a prude! I’ve only been sexually frustrated for the past three years!”

I exaggeratedly widen my eyes and my mouth forms an  _ O _ , “ _ Oh _ , so that’s why you spent consecutive days in your bedroom, wallowing in your misery last year.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, crossing his arms but the edges of his lips are raised slightly. There’s a momentary pause before Niall changes the subject. “So, what’s up with you?”

Immediately, the reflex in my brain jumps straight to worrying if Niall found out. Did he? Did Harry tell Niall something? What if a rumour about me is spreading throughout the whole country? Fuck, now Niall’s looking at me weird. I need to keep my face composed.

“Hey, are you alright?” Niall frowns, nudging me. 

I snap out of it and plaster a fake smile on my face. “Yeah, yeah. Of course… why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, you looked a little lost there for a second.”

“Well, I’m fine,” I reply, speaking before I have a chance to think. “In fact, I’m immensely peachy.”

Niall lets out a loud laugh and it almost makes me join in because he’s the only person I know that literally laughs like  _ hahahahaha _ . It’s more contagious than the most contagious disease in the world.

“Sure, buddy,” he tells me, patting my shoulder as we arrive at the stairs. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”

I salute to him with an indolent half-smile. “See you.”

With a deep inhale, I start heading up the stairs, still refusing to make eye contact with the people that I pass because it would be awkward if I didn’t. I turn the corner into the locker room before backing out straight away when I spot a familiar head of curls. I accidentally bump into someone as I step backwards, muttering an apology before I make a dash for the bathroom, locking myself in a cubicle. I remove my bag from my back and sit on the toilet lid, placing the bag on my lap and letting out a sigh.

My eyes flutter shut as I rest my forehead on the top of my bag, breathing heavily. I’m not ready to face Harry. I haven’t planned out what I’m going to say and I’m not looking forward to seeing his betrayed expression again. I’m not ready to see his usually-bright-green eyes become clouded with dark, stormy clouds and I’m not ready for them to glare at me penetratingly. I repeatedly hit my head against my bag. Why did I even bother coming to school today?

I ponder over whether I should just remain in this cubicle for the rest of the day and not attend my classes. That way, Harry won’t have any proof that I even came to school. I have a sufficient amount of food and water in my bag to keep me alive if I camp out overnight. Niall… well, Niall would probably believe that he was just hallucinating this morning when he talked to me, so he isn’t solid enough proof for Harry anyway. Perhaps, if I flush myself down the toilet, the school will write up a report about my unanticipated and ill-fated death? Then, I won’t have to face Harry ever again.

I know I sound like I’m being dramatic but  _ fuck _ , Harry and I haven’t had another falling out since four years ago when we argued over whether our science poster should be green or blue. Granted, the dispute only lasted for about three minutes and we ended up choosing an aqua-sort-of colour but that’s not the point. What I’m trying to say is that since we haven’t fought much in the history of our friendship, I don’t know how to go about fixing things with Harry. I don’t know how to approach him and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how he’ll react to certain things and I don’t know how to respond to his reactions.

Much to my dismay, I realise that it’s nearing the time when class begins and I stand up with a groan, reluctantly slinging my bag over my arm and unlocking the door. I traipse out of the bathroom and find my way back to the locker room, heaving a sigh of relief when there’s no sign of Harry. I grab my maths and English books, and head to class, once again, watching the seconds hand tick faster than usual.

***

Lunchtime is as awkward and uncomfortable as I imagined it would be, if not, even more than what I had in my head. The lads, including Harry, all came to a unanimous agreement that we should have lunch together because they feel like we’ve been ‘drifting apart’ lately. Of course, I didn’t have a say in that. Tension is high and wraps around our table like a tight, rigid bubble, suffocating us until all of us want nothing more than to flee the place. I never let my eyes meet Harry’s, not that they would, because Harry’s been having a staring competition with the table for twenty straight minutes now.

Liam and Niall seem to notice the conspicuous strain between Harry and me, and they desperately try to lighten up the atmosphere, exercising their wits through engaging in some friendly banter with each other. Nick, oblivious and uncaring as usual, spends most of the time playing a racing game on his phone, chiming in with a (what he thinks is a funny) joke only occasionally. If it was any other day, under any other circumstance, I’d be doubling over in laughter at the jokes. But today, I can’t bring myself to. It feels as if nothing in the world, not even Niall’s laugh, can brighten my mood now.

“Knock knock,” Niall says, placing his head in his hands and gazing in Liam’s direction, but his voice loud enough to reach all of our ears.

“Who’s there?” Liam complies to the blond boy’s attempt to lighten the mood.

“Figs,” Niall replies.

“Figs who?”

“Figs the doorbell ‘cause that’s why I’m knocking!” Niall chortles, erupting into a fit of laughter and clutching his sides as his body shakes. Liam facepalms at the sheer stupidity of the joke and shakes his head fondly. Niall eventually calms down from laughing his head off and continues, “I have another one.”

“I don’t know if I even want to hear it,” Liam mutters but Niall’s eyes light up even more.

“Of course, you do,” he grins. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Liam humours him.

“Abby.”

“Abby New Year!” Niall exclaims, looking proud like he’s just told the best joke in the world. It definitely was far from that, though.

Liam sighs with a slight roll of his eyes and protests, “It’s not even remotely  _ close _ to New Year’s, Ni… worst joke I’ve ever heard, if I can say so myself.”

“Aw, Liam. Play nice,” Niall pouts before he challenges Liam, “I’d like to see you try to top me.”

I nearly choke at the wording but I hide my face in my shoulder.

“What if I don’t want to?” Liam counters.

Niall sits back and crosses his arms, grumbling, “Liam, you’re such a killjoy. No wonder no one wants to be your friend.”

“If that’s the case, then why am I sitting here?” Liam raises an eyebrow.

“‘Cause the other lads like you for some reason,” Niall shrugs, glancing around at the three of us who aren’t contributing to the conversation. “I dunno why.”

“Well, at least they love me more than they love you,” Liam points out before looking at me. “Right, Louis?”

Their discussion is barely at the forefront of my mind so I just tilt my head to the side and mutter something unintelligible. Liam seems to take the hint and turns back to Niall to carry on with their debate about who us lads love more. 

I don’t pay much attention to their concatenations of ripostes as my mind wanders back to my main complication right now. I kind of want to drag Harry away from the group so I can have a conversation with him in private, but I don’t know how to do that. However, if I stall for the remainder of the day, he’ll probably flee the school grounds as soon as the bell sounds and I won’t be able to catch him. If that happens, I won’t even be able to call him to explain or arrange a time to catch up (that would be the most awkward phone call ever, anyway).

It’s in times like this when I wish that I had some sort of ethereal messenger to transmit the thoughts that I can’t bring myself to say aloud to other people. I continue to blame my inability to confront people on my  _ thinking and not doing _ habit, which is probably one of my most consequential downfalls. I wonder whether if I initiate the conversation with Harry now, I’ll step into a new era of myself where I actually follow through with the things that I wish I could do.

“Harry,” I find myself saying suddenly and it’s totally involuntary. I’m even surprised at my own effort to speak up first. Harry’s head snaps up and he looks at me, his face completely deprived of any emotions, “Can I talk to you?”

Harry doesn’t reply immediately and I feel my face growing warm under the gaze of Niall and Liam (Nick is still on his phone absentmindedly). He seems to be contemplating my words before he jumps out of whatever trance he was in and nods slowly, standing up hesitantly. I slide out of my seat and head for the door, still feeling ill at ease as the lads watch our movements observantly. I don’t bother to check that Harry’s actually following me.

I search for the large tree and the three logs again because it seems like the most appropriate place to have another deep, momentous heart-to-heart. It still holds memories of my endless stalling and shed tears, as well as the way Harry comforted me and held me close, and for that reason, it may as well be my favourite place in the whole school.

I stand myself on one of the logs and Harry keeps the distance between us, positioning himself on a different log. It’s almost a replica of yesterday, only, Harry’s expression is cold instead of concerned. Mine is the same - frantic and  _ filled _ with anxiety.

How the hell am I supposed to start off this conversation? I can’t just say ‘Hey, Harry. Sorry ‘bout the prank yesterday. I don’t actually have a crush on someone from my church ‘cause I have a crush on you. But yeah, sorry, I’m still gay’. I can’t say something like ‘Sorry for lying to you. I just didn’t trust that you’d react well’ either. I’m beginning to feel a bit sweaty on my palms and my tongue is tying itself up into a knot. Speaking of knots, my chest is also in one and my heart is palpitating inside of it. So yeah, how about it? I’m just a little, somewhat, kind of, really, very, extremely nervous. There’s absolutely nothing for me to be afraid of. Nope, nada.

So my mouth ends up having a leakage and for the second time this week, I find myself rambling about everything that’s on my mind - every fear and worry. My heart pinpoints a pertinent place to rest on my sleeve, fragile and vulnerable for Harry to take or leave. His choice.

“Harry, I’m so sorry… I’m  _ so _ sorry about what happened yesterday. It wasn’t supposed to be a prank but I didn’t know how else to come out to you and I was so, so scared, like, I didn’t know how you would react and I was thinking that if I made it into a ‘prank’, I could back out of it if you didn’t react well or things went downhill, and-and I also needed to get Nick to believe that I’m straight too, but I didn’t expect him to be  _ so _ on board with it!” I ramble on and on, my hands tugging harshly on my hair in distress. I can’t even bear to look Harry in the eye as my mouth continues running. “A-And it’s not that I don’t trust you because believe me, I do, but I was just so scared since it was my first time coming out to  _ anyone _ , you know, and almost everyone in my life is homophobic so I really didn’t know what to expect. And the ‘prank’ thing… it just turned into a whole mess and I was adding on lies and more lies and I don’t even have a crush on a guy from my church! That was just another lie so I wouldn’t be  _ completely _ fibbing if I told you that it was all a big joke-”

“Louis-” He interrupts but I keep going because I need, I  _ need _ to get all of these thoughts out of my head before he admonishes me or something.

“I really am sorry and I know it was awful and immoral of me to come out to you as a ‘prank’ but I needed a way to b-back out of it if you didn’t accept me ‘cause I didn’t want to lose our friendship or anything. I mean, we’ve been best mates for so long and I literally couldn’t imagine my life without you… I-I’d probably be dying inside a sewer, living off of random people’s shit and crying all the time. A-And when Nick told you, you looked  _ so _ betrayed and I was so mad at myself because I thought I had lost you, and then everything became blurry and it was just  _ horrible _ \- it was the most horrible feeling in the world, you know… And then I couldn’t text you or call you to explain myself ‘cause my parents took away my phone and I didn’t know what to do so I just cried in my bed for the whole night, a-and I just hope you’re not too mad at me and that-that you’ll give me a chance to make it up to you…” I trail off, removing my hands from my hair and letting them dangle limply by my sides, my head hanging as I refuse to meet my eyes.

It appears to me as though the whole world goes silent, so silent that even the silence is thunderous. My heart is racing in my chest and I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat, internally begging my eyes not to start watering. Neither Harry nor I need a repeat of yesterday.

Harry seems to take an eternity to voice his thoughts but I can’t even bring myself to look up and see if he’s still here or if he’s… left. Every second of silence, I lose more and more hope but the only thing I deserve to look at right now is my feet, which are clad in a pair of old, worn-out sneakers. This is it - my final conversation with Harry forever… and it’s not even a conversation because I’m basically just ranting to myself. Everything I’m saying is being thrown into the void.

“I’m not mad at you.”

His voice is weak and slightly guttural, and the abruptness of it makes my head snap up so fast that the blood rush almost makes me faint. He’s looking straight into my eyes, through his thick lashes, his green orbs clouded with a storm of something like regret. A wave of relief passes over me and I feel like I could collapse and die happy, but he doesn’t look like he’s finished talking yet, so I hold that thought.

“What?” I find myself whispering, my tone soft but incredulous.

“I’m not mad at you,” he repeats before he pauses for a second. He sighs loudly and rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the sky as if it’s going to give him the power to talk. “I overreacted.”

My eyes widen and I shake my head frantically. “No, no, you didn’t. I-It was a dick move on my part, to play it off as a prank… I shouldn’t have done that-”

“No, but I understand why you did it,” Harry cuts in, holding up his hand to silence me. “I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to come out when all you know from everyone around you is homophobia. You really are brave, you know that?”

His face is filled with so much sincerity, and his eyes are earnest and kind. I kind of want to curl up in a ball in his arms forever.

“That’s the thing,” I say, hanging my head again. “It was  _ you _ , Harry… you’ve shown nothing but l-love and kindness me since day one and it was stupid of me to think that you’d react badly. Your support yesterday, it was everything to me. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

I look up to meet his eyes but he just shakes his head sadly. “The way I acted after Nick said that it was a prank… I could’ve given you better than that, and I know it’s a shitty excuse, but it was just really overwhelming - I wasn’t really having the best day.”

His expression turns sheepish and I’m suddenly swamped by a wave of guilt. It’s a horrible feeling, you know, when you realise that you’ve placed even more of a burden on your best mate’s shoulders when they were already having a bad day to begin with.

I swallow, my chest hollow as my gaze shifts towards the tree. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worsen your day.”

Harry freezes and shakes his head profusely. “No, no, I didn’t mean to give the impression that you made my day worse… in fact, it made my day even better when you trusted me enough to come out to me. It’s just…” he slumps his shoulders and trails off, “yeah…”

I steadily take a step across the log and ask him tentatively, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He gazes at me, his face flashing with contemplation before he gives in to my proposition.

“My dad wants me to attend a straight pride this Saturday,” he tells me, his voice flooding with regret and I find myself subconsciously holding my breath, “He told me that yesterday morning so that’s what started off my bad day, and then you came out to me at lunch and I was trying my best to be supportive but all that I could think was  _ oh shit, what kind of a friend would I be if I attended a straight pride, just to appease my dad? _ . And I was getting really stressed because I didn’t know how to say  _ no _ to my dad without causing him major disappointment, and then  _ Nick _ happened and it was like I was stressing over nothing…” he trails off with his hands in his hair before adding hastily, “Don’t get me wrong, I’d never actually go to a straight pride, but I was just, yeah,  _ stressed _ …”

Ugh, I should have reminded myself, before I came out, that my problems aren’t the only things that matter. There are almost seven billion people in the world and each one of them has their own set of problems, so why did I not even  _ think _ to consider whether Harry was going through his own struggles? Fuck, I’m so selfish. So,  _ so _ ignorant.

An “oh” is all that escapes my mouth because I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to reply. But then again, how do you even respond to a scenario that’s so convoluted and messed up?

“My dad is planning to only join in with the big parade at the end, so I’ll probably go out before and tell him that I got lost while trying to find the place,” Harry tells me with the smallest of smiles playing on his lips. “I’d rather go to a proper pride, anyway, you know, a  _ non _ -straight one.”

I look up at him and I didn’t know that it was possible for a person to look tentative and confident at the same time. A shy smile forms on my face. 

“You would?” I question and he gives me the slightest of nods. I muse thoughtfully, “I’ve never been to one before.”

Harry’s attention diverts and suddenly, he’s in a faraway land, his face ruminative. “I’d go with you to one, if you wanted to.”

My heart leaps in my chest and I exhale a breath that I didn’t even know I had been holding. “Really?”

“Really.” He nods in confirmation.

Fuck, I feel so loved.

“Thanks, H. That… that really means a lot to me,” I tell him honestly, my gratitude for his offer flowing through my fragile tone.

There’s a brief pause after that and I shift between my feet in discomfort, desperately trying to think of something to say that will start up a new conversation. But I can’t. All of my thoughts scream  _ Harry, Harry, Harry _ and I chastise my brain for it, begging it to shut the hell up. I can’t just suddenly blurt out how in love I am with this curly-headed boy, straight to his face, for that matter. He’s straight and me being in a relationship with a boy… well, that’s practically impossible.

Harry’s lips quirk up into a smile and a mischievous glint appears in each of his eyes as he saunters towards the edge of his log that’s closest to me. “So, you don’t actually have a crush?”

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks but internally, I’m silently thanking the gods that Harry isn’t keeping his distance anymore. I’m glad he’s not looking at me like I’ve betrayed him and I’m even happier that we’re back on casually-joking-and-conversing-like-laddy-lad-bros terms. I’m alright. He’s alright. We’re alright. Fuck, I’m so relieved.

I bite my tongue, asking myself if I should lie or not. It seems inappropriate to lie, now that Harry’s reassured me that he has my full trust. But at the same time, if I tell him that I  _ do _ have a crush, he’ll be begging me on his knees to enlighten him of who it is.

Naturally, my mouth decides to go for a vague “maybe” and Harry shoots me an  _ are you serious _ look.

“I’m going to die from curiosity, Lou,” he tells me with wide, imploring eyes that I am certainly  _ not _ going to give into. Not today, at least.

“That’s why they say that  _ curiosity killed the cat _ ,” I say lightheartedly before adding in a lower tone, “Besides, it’s just a silly, little crush. It’ll pass soon enough.”

The words taste like salt and leave a stinging aftertaste in my mouth as they escape my lips. The thought of that happening… it pains me to think about. I’m making realisation after realisation today because previously, I had thought that heartbreak could only occur after a horrible breakup or when someone close to you dies. Turns out, saying aloud that my  _ silly _ and  _ little _ crush on Harry will pass soon is enough for my heart to tear a little over halfway.

“You think?” Harry asks sceptically, raising an eyebrow. “Well, are you going to tell me who it is, then?”

I take in a breath sharply and my heart skips a beat momentarily in fear. Shit. No, no, no. He can’t know!

“N-No,” I manage to choke out, composing myself when Harry sends me a strange look. I continue expeditiously, “It’s not going to happen anyway. I can’t… I can’t be in a relationship with a boy.”

Harry’s face falls and he furrows his eyebrows, carefully stepping onto the same log that I’m standing on. “Hold on. Why-why? Why not? You literally just told me that you’re attracted to boys…?”

He trails off confusedly and I give him a look to tell him that he should already know why. I sigh, “My parents, my friends and practically everyone in my life that’s not you, Haz. Just ‘cause I told you that I’m gay doesn’t mean I actually get to live it out.”

It feels like ten hours worth of labour to say that sentence and it hits me like a truck when I finally admit it out loud. But at the same time, it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulder, now that I actually get to talk about it with someone.

“That’s not fair,” Harry tells me, letting out a quavery exhale. “You should be able to love whoever you want.”

Yeah, keep telling me that, Mr  _ I’m straight _ .

“I know that, trust me… but I just hope,” I start, my eyes meeting Harry’s as I sniff a little and swallow, “I just hope I end up somehow falling in love with a g-girl…”

If there was any hint of a smile on Harry’s face before, it’s completely gone now. His eyes fade to a dark, dark green that could almost be mistaken for murky brown or black. He steps towards me and reaches out to grab my wrist, sliding his hand down so he can take my hand and rub his thumbs over my knuckles. I shiver from how electric just the slightest touch from him is.

“No, don’t say that,” he mutters, his voice almost at a whisper as he studies my face through his lashes. “Y-You can’t control who you fall in love with, and you shouldn’t have to change that because of your parents or friends… it’s your love, not theirs.”

Ha, how ironic of him to say that.

I slump my shoulders and purse my lips as a frown forms on my face. He’s right and both of us know it. But it’s not that easy. My parents… well, the problem with them is that their opinion on love is the complete opposite to mine and Harry’s. How am I supposed to convince them that I can’t help falling in love with a boy if they believe that falling in love isn’t even possible - if they believe that I  _ could _ fall in love with a girl if I set my mind to it?

I shake my head, my lips trembling slightly. “It’s not that easy, Haz. Th-They’re convinced that love is something that can be chosen, that it’s impossible to fall in love-”

“But you don’t believe that, do you?” he questions dubiously, glancing at me with hesitance written all over his face. 

“No,” I reply almost immediately, shaking my head again but internally, I have doubts. For the most part, I don’t believe it but there’s always a part of me - just a small part - that constantly wonders if maybe, my parents are actually right.

“Then who cares what they think?” Harry asks, his voice so pleading that it makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. His eyes are just as full of emotion as my heart.

I slip my hand out of his and move away from him, turning my body so I’m facing the tree instead of looking at him. I can still feel his gaze on me as I angle my chin slightly up, so I can stare far off into the clear, blue sky beyond the fence of the school.

“I… I-I can’t,” I stumble slightly over my words, my tone pensive and raw, inundated with dejection and vulnerability. “It’s the least I can do for them… my parents, I mean. They’ve raised me for almost eighteen years, provided me with shelter, food, clothes and basically everything else I have. They pay for my education and medical bills and I-I can’t just do that to them. Who am I to break their hearts by being so, so selfish, after all that they’ve done for me? I can’t just become such a disappointment of a son when I’m supposed to be a role model for the girls. A-And with the lads… How can I just throw away twelve years of friendship with Nick for my own, greedy desires? What about-”

“It’s  _ love _ ,” Harry interrupts but I don’t try to speak over him. I just stay silent, with my eyes facing forwards and wait for him to elaborate. “It’s not something you can just turn on and off. Anyone who makes you feel guilty or selfish for loving someone is ignorant and close-minded.”

“But they don’t believe that, Harry!” I exasperate, my voice cracking ever so slightly. “How are they supposed to accept it if I fall in love with a boy when they think that love is a choice?” I pause momentarily, turning to face him. “Tell me, if  _ you _ fell in love with a boy, would you go for it, knowing that your parents would probably disown you?!”

Harry’s face goes slack and I immediately regret my choice of words and how bitter I sound. I can’t help it, though. I’m so… I’m just so done with life. I don’t even know which emotions are mixing together within me. There’s frustration, irritation, helplessness and maybe even a little, or a lot of anger. Why? Why does it have to be like this?

His jaw clenches as his face hardens. “Look, I understand where you’re coming from, I really do but it’s your life, not theirs. You can’t let them take away your life just so you can please them-”

“I’d ruin their lives!” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in aggravation. “I can’t just go off and live happily ever after with a boy while my parents are heartbroken and devastated at home! I can’t-I can’t destroy them like that…”

I trail off with a slight shudder and Harry sighs hotly, eying me carefully. “Lou, you’re not living a life to please others. Yeah, sure, it’s always good to try and make your parents happy but no one can ever be the perfect child. In fact, their expectations for a ‘perfect child’ are completely irrational and so, so ludicrous… I hate to say it, but you’re wrong if you think you’re going to survive by living a lie, just to make your parents happy.”

I slump my shoulders and place my head in my hands, completely overwhelmed by sentiments of impotence and vexation. Harry’s right again and my brain is fully aware of it, but I don’t want to believe it. It’s too far fetched and implausible for it to ever come true so I need to keep my hopes down. But at the same time, I  _ long _ to believe it. It would be too good to come to fruition.

“You’re right,” I eventually give in and a hopeful expression crosses his face. “You’re completely right but it’s not going to happen. I’ll just, you know, keep to myself for now and come back to it in the future.”

I can tell that he’s trying to remain positive and supportive but his face falters ever so slightly for a split second.

He looks tentative as he asks another question, “Are you planning on, you know, coming out to anyone else?”

With a press of my lips, I shake my head and look down.

“No,” I say before looking up again. “I think I’ve already done enough coming out for the year,” I tell him with a small laugh. “Plus, I’m not risking it anymore. It’s not worth it.”

Harry nods slowly, albeit quite sadly, as if he’s just passively giving in to what I’m saying. He smiles slightly as he opens his arms and I step into his warm embrace, resting my head in the crook of his neck. He drops a fleeting kiss on my forehead before resting his chin atop my head and I force myself to suppress a silly grin that threatens to form on my face.

“I’m still so, so proud of you,” he murmurs into my hair, his breath sending chills from my head, all the way down to the bottom of my spine. “Never forget that.”

I only wrap my arms around his waist tighter, latching on unyieldingly to savour the best of the moment before it inevitably ends. Come to think of it, I’m glad that none of the students ever visit this side of the school.

***

It’s Friday afternoon and the lads and I are sprawled across two picnic blankets, chatting about the most useless things while the sun shines and the wind quietens. It seems like it’s going to be a good day today because the water in the lake is still and the ducks aren’t making awful quacking noises. There are a few groups of people scattered here and there, some playing frisbee while others are gathered around a barbecue. A couple of people are speed-riding their bikes down the path and towards the lake, and quite a number of children are flying kites, with the help of their parents or older siblings (I remember teaching Lottie how to fly a kite; most frustrating day of my life). All in all, the atmosphere that surrounds this park is rather cheery that it reminds me of the ambience around Christmas time.

But within the park, the lads and I are trapped inside our own little bubble, not to be disturbed by any outsiders. Liam is sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on one hand as he uses the other hand to throw pieces of popcorn into Niall’s mouth. Niall, on the other hand, looks quite like a little monkey, scampering around as Liam begins throwing each piece of popcorn in acutely different directions. Nick is sitting off to the side on a foldable chair, soft drink in hand and for once, he’s not on his phone. He’s taking pictures of random things, like the little girl who just fell out of the slide, the dad who just doubled over as he got hit in the stomach by a frisbee, and Niall, as his mouth fills up dangerously with popcorn.

Next to me, Harry is laying down on his back with a pair of large sunglasses covering his eyes to reflect UV rays. He’s got his hands cushioning his head and one of his legs crossed over the other as he relaxes. My limited vocabulary of adjectives would be unable to do Harry justice if I tried to describe how good he looks in the broad daylight. He’s only got a small smile on his face but the sun creates the illusion that he’s glowing; he’s practically giving off light.

Sometimes I wonder how big a pile of shit I look when I’m in a close proximity to Harry. Like, he could be dressed head to toe in a bunch of badly torn rags and I could be proper suit and tie, and he’d still look a hundred times better than me. He could’ve grown out all the hair on his body and look like a monkey, and could be neat and clean-shaven, but he’d still look like a a fucking model. It might as well be called  _ disgraceful _ for me to stand next to him, or even  _ be _ in his presence (maybe I’m taking it a little too far here).

“Ten in a row,” Niall declares, holding out his arms and tilting his head towards the sky in victory. “Jules would have killed to see it.”

Since getting his act together with Julia, Niall literally  _ cannot _ stop talking about her. He’ll always find a way to incorporate her into absolutely anything we might be talking about and then he’ll keep yabbering on and on until he passes out from exhaustion. It’s kind of endearing, how his eyes light up and his smile widens when he’s talking about her, but the lad needs a plug or something to keep his mouth shut.

Just yesterday, we were having a group debate over whether pineapples belong on pizza or not. Naturally, Liam and I were on the dissenting side while Niall, Harry and Nick were all for it. Right when Liam pointed out how the pineapples completely ruin the essence of a Hawaiian pizza, Niall began chattering about how Julia’s father once had an allergic reaction while eating a Hawaiian pizza, which was so severe that he had to be rushed to the hospital. Turns out, whoever made the pizza had accidentally dropped a mushroom on it and Julia’s father is allergic to mushrooms.

Niall is so fucking whipped.

“Fifty in a row and I’ll buy you front row seats to see Justin Bieber in concert,” Liam challenges, opening another packet of popcorn and getting ready to throw one into Niall’s mouth.

“How about tickets for Lady Gaga?” Niall tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow.

Liam furrows his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you liked Lady Gaga.”

“Better than Bieber,” Niall shrugs before rolling his eyes. “Fine. Jules likes Lady Gaga.”

I shake my head fondly because Niall is  _ so _ smitten by that girl. I swear that he’ll literally do anything for her.

“I’ll have you know that I can see right through your  _ poker face _ ,” Liam smirks, looking proud at his ability to sneak in a song reference there.

Niall shrugs again. “There’s nothing to see. I don’t have one.”

“I saw your playlist,” Liam says simply and Niall’s eyes widen dramatically. After a few seconds of silence, Liam bursts out into laughter. “I knew it! Your face!”

Niall huffs angrily as Liam rolls on the ground, clutching his sides as he lets out a large chuckle. The blond boy grabs a fistful of dead grass before proceeding to aggressively empty his hand’s contents into Liam’s open mouth. Liam continues laughing as he coughs out the turf.

“I hate you so much,” Niall caterwauls, his Irish accent becoming more prominent with every word. He slams his hands on the ground, kind of like a child having a temper tantrum.

Liam eventually calms down and he swipes at the tears that are forming in his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed. Lady Gaga’s a wonderful artist.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?” Niall demands. “I don’t even listen to her!”

Liam reaches out to pat Niall reassuringly on the shoulder but the latter flinches away. “I’m sure Julia will end up playing you one of her songs in the car sometime. Then you can give me your review on her.”

“You won’t be hearing from me ever again,” Niall promises but immediately breaks his promise by adding, “I bet you listen to Britney, don’t you?”

Liam raises an eyebrow daringly. “What if I do?”

Niall pauses. “You’d get teased for that.”

Liam shrugs nonchalantly. “Whatever. People can talk. I just think  _ Toxic _ ’s a real, fucking banger.”

A loud, obnoxious cough sounds from the side and everyone turns to look at Nick, who’s glowering at Liam domineeringly. “Mate, watch your language.”

Liam looks a bit sheepish at the supplication and says, “Sorry, man, I can’t really help it. Sometimes my damn mouth just goes and does whatever the fuck it wants without consulting my brain first. It’s kind of a shitty habit, I know.”

I almost laugh at Liam’s antics but stop myself as Nick leans forward in his chair, full-on death-glaring at Liam like he’s about to rip his skull out of his head. I gulp down the lump that has formed in my throat on behalf of Liam, realising that I spoke too soon. Today might not be a good day after all.

“Can you stop being disrespectful?” Nick inquires brusquely, his face fading to a dark red. “You know I don’t like it when you swear.”

Liam looks a bit taken aback by how offended Nick was and he holds up his hands. “Sorry, man, I didn’t know you disliked it so much. I’ll stop-”

“And please also stop talking about that Lady Gaga and Britney stuff,” Nick adds, cutting Liam off.

I furrow my eyebrows at that. What did Lady Gaga and Britney Spears ever do to Nick? What does he have against them? They’re literally just two artists that he can choose to make significant in his life or not.

“Okay…” Liam frowns before looking up at Nick. “But why?”

An awkward expression suddenly crosses Nick’s face and he shifts slightly in his seat. “It, um, it makes me uncomfortable.”

If it’s even possible, Liam frowns even more. “Really? Why?”

“They’re just so…” Nick trails off, fiddling with a few of the buttons on his camera and moving around uneasily. Liam raises an eyebrow expectantly and Nick finishes his sentence, “gay.”

He whispers that last part like it’s some sort of uncharted territory that he’s going into for the first time. Like it wouldn’t be acceptable to say the word  _ gay _ at the same volume as the rest of his sentence. Like he dreads letting that taboo word and concept escape from his mouth. His eyes are slightly wider than usual and I compress my lips together tightly. Beside me, out of the corner of my eye, I see Harry sit up and move his sunglasses from his eyes so that they’re resting on top of his head.

“Mate, chill,” Liam says and I can tell that he’s trying to make his voice stay rational and calm. “They’re just artists that a lot of gay people happen to listen to.”

“Exactly!” Nick hisses, leaning closer to Liam as if this is a conversation that he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. “That’s why they make me uncomfortable!”

“What?” Niall chimes in from behind Liam, looking confused as ever. “Gay people make you uncomfortable?”

Nick nods almost sheepishly, his face flushing and Liam repeats, “But  _ why _ ?”

“Because it’s not natural!” Nick whisper-shouts, his dark eyes bearing quite a lot of fire. “It’s a sin to be gay.”

I kid you not, I don’t even flinch at his words. That’s how used to them I am. But next to me, Harry seems to stiffen a bit.

Harry speaks up, his face indifferent but his tone snarky, “You know you’re going to meet gay people in the future so you’d better prepare yourself for it now.”

Nick shakes his head stubbornly. “I won’t ‘cause I’ll know if they are.”

“How?” Harry questions.

Nick merely shrugs. “They’ll all be wearing dresses and high heels and stuff.”

I glance down at my tracksuit pants and sneakers, and will myself not to burst out laughing. A small smile is permanently playing on my lips and I couldn’t care less about how irreverent everything that he’s saying is. Oh, Nick, you’re quite a funny lad, aren’t you? Your naivety and ignorance go hand in hand.

“Yes,” I chip in. “And they’ll also  _ all _ be walking around and shopping, holding their iced coffees from Starbucks with their limp wrists.”

No one really seems to pay attention to my passing comment as Liam continues, “But like… why do they make you so uncomfortable?”

I swear Nick shudders a little and he looks a little overwhelmed by our interrogation. I don’t want to say that it serves him right for being so inconsiderate, but it really does serve him right for being so inconsiderate.

“I already told you, it’s unnatural,” Nick says, playing it off cool with a roll of his eyes. “Plus, what if one of them hits on me?”

Hm, looks like  _ someone’s _ uncomfortable with their sexuality… 

Liam looks at Nick sceptically, a little bit in disbelief. “Mate, I’m pretty sure gay men don’t hit on every man they come across.”

“But what if one does?!” Nick exasperates as if that scenario would be the worst thing in the world.

“Then just turn them down,” Liam replies with a shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“What would you do if one of us, lads, hit on you?” Niall quips suddenly and I subconsciously hold a breath, already anticipating an unsatisfying answer from Nick.

Nick scrunches up his nose, his mouth turned down on the sides as if he’d just heard the most disgusting thing in his life.

“You would  _ not _ ,” he almost spits. “Plus, none of you are gay anyway. If one of you, lads,  _ turned _ gay, then I’d unfriend you.”

My eyes widen to saucepans and my jaw drops wide open in shock at the statement. I quickly shut it, though, my mouth running dry and my face going white, even though I’ve gotten a decent tan over the past couple of days. I knew it. I should’ve anticipated him saying something like that all along. Just for being gay, he’d throw out nearly twelve years of friendship. I couldn’t have expected anything less.

I don’t know whether my mouth and throat are drier or if my heart is throbbing more or if my lungs are lacking more air. It shouldn’t have even been a shock to me because Nick has constantly voiced his feelings in opposition to the LGBTQ+ community for the past few years. But to my surprise, I don’t even feel angry per se. In fact, I don’t hold anything against him because I know exactly where he’s coming from. He’s the same as my parents and the little amount of acquaintances I have from my church. I wonder if it’s unfavourable to be gay but at the same time, tolerate homophobia.

Maybe it’s just me being foolish but I can’t help holding on so tight to Nick and my toxic friendship. Since the very beginning, he’s been bossing me around and calling me names like  _ boring _ because of how quiet I am before I come out of my shell. He judges people who pass by like it’s his job and blatantly offensive comments roll off of his tongue, just like that, as if it’s second nature to him. But he doesn’t care. He just thinks it’s  _ so _ abnormal to have a disability, to have scars, to have a lisp, to not have many friends, to be  _ gay _ . His strong religious beliefs don’t even apply here anymore.

But, there’s nothing I can do, anyway. I can’t bring myself to end my friendship with him unless he does it first. I’m not willing to throw away those twelve years where I would’ve been alone all throughout school, if it wasn’t for him. I suppose I’ll just have to keep it a secret until we naturally drift apart.

“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?” I question, trying to sound as casual as I can as I lean back on my hands, squinting up at him. I can feel Harry’s eyes on my face and I really want him to look away from me because otherwise, the other lads will get suspicious.

Nick shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s what you get.”

***

It’s not even an hour after I arrive home from the park when a knock sounds on the door, and because I won’t receive my phone back for two more days, I’m sitting in the living room, engrossed in a novel. Mindlessly, I place a bookmark at the page that I’m reading and close the book, setting it down on the coffee table before wandering over to open the door. To my surprise, Harry is standing on the porch with a bag hanging from his shoulder and one of his hands in his pocket. Well, what can I say? I’d much rather be opening the door to him than a marketer.

“Louis,” he nods cordially at me, with a small, cheeky smile playing on his lips, but it’s enough for his dimples to pop out slightly.

“Hey, H,” I chirp brightly because I’m literally so bored and when am I  _ not _ excited to see him? “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to ask your mum out on a date,” he quips as I gesture for him to enter and I close the door.

I roll my eyes. “You know, she’d probably say  _ yes _ just because she thinks that you’re a ‘good influence’ on me.”

Harry spins around and winks at me, smirking. “Well, wouldn’t she like to know?”

I lead him up the stairs, to my bedroom because that’s where we usually hang out. Living with two parents and four younger sisters doesn’t usually leave a lot of space in the house for us to be alone. That’s partially the reason why all of the lads’ gatherings are held at Niall’s house, most of the time, or elsewhere if it seems fit. Moreover, my parents would definitely not approve of the amount of cussing, Niall’s drinking habits or Zayn’s smoking.

The door closes behind me as I sit my arse on my chair and Harry places his bag on the floor, flopping onto my bed in exhaustion.

“So, are you going to tell me the real reason why you’re here?” I question, raising an eyebrow, even though he’s not looking at me. “Other than to seduce my mum?”

“I went shopping,” he responds vaguely, looking like a starfish on my bed. What the fuck is he even trying to do?

“How fun. How interesting. How extravagant,” I say sarcastically. “What a detailed and intricate way to describe how you spent this past hour. Congratulations, Styles. You received fifteen out of fifteen marks for that comprehensive description.”

Harry snorts and sits up, running a hand through his messed up hair (for the record, it still looks wonderful). “I went shopping and I bought some stuff. I mainly came here to show you this fake rose I bought to give to your mum when I take her out on our date.”

He reaches to the bottom of his bag and pulls out a pseudo rose that has pink, glittery petals and a salmon-coloured bow around the receptacle. He shows it to me from every direction, as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, before deeply inhaling its non-existent scent.

“Smells glorious,” he comments, holding out the flower so I can smell it.

I wrinkle my nose up as soon as I get the slightest whiff of it because it smells like rubber, albeit the rose not even being made out of rubber.

“Yeah,” I reply, rubbing my nose to get rid of the smell. “I’m sure she’ll be absolutely delighted by it. Perhaps, she’ll even use it as an air freshener in her bathroom.”

“I’d love to see it,” he states monotonously, shoving the flower back in his bag before rummaging around for something else. “I went to one of the stationery shops ‘cause why not and  _ apparently _ they also sell a bunch of other things like headphones and drink bottles and mugs. So, I bought you one, even though you probably won’t end up using it, you know, for obvious reasons…”

He lifts a box out of his bag and there is a preview photo on the outside, showing a mug with two wavy, rainbow stripes on it, the words  _ free to be me _ printed through each of the rainbows. I place my hands over my mouth to stop myself from gasping but that just ends up in me nearly bursting into tears.

“Oh my god, Haz, you’re too much for me,” I profess, taking the box as Harry hands it to me and gazing at it in awe.

He sits back and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I hope you, um, like it.”

“Like it?” I almost squeak and internally cringe at how I sound. “I love it. Thank you so, so much. You didn’t have to buy me anything, though.”

Harry shrugs. “Well, I’m not going to go back and return it now. Besides, I’m kind of a spendthrift, anyway.”

I hold the box close to my chest with a dopey smile on my face before placing it on the table and standing up, heading for my shelf. “I also happened to get you a mug, some time ago. Although it’s not quite as meaningful or sentimental as yours.”

Ha, if only he knew.

I locate the mug on my top shelf, grinning dumbly at the familiar words, _take it like a thief in the night_ , as I read them. I spin on my heel and walk back to Harry, handing him the cup. He looks quite confused at first but then a wave of realisation washes over him and he lets out a chuckle as he recognises the lyrics.

“I love it,” he laughs, his eyes crinkling on the edges as he turns the box in his hands to read every side. “This is the sweetest gift anyone’s ever gotten me. Thanks, Lou.”

Don’t. Fucking. Blush. Thank you.

“You’d better put it to good use,” I tell him, sitting back down in my chair and watching him as he places the box in his bag.

“Not to worry. I’ll be showing it off at every family function,” He looks up at me, his expression suddenly turning slightly penitent. “Sorry that you can’t really, you know, use the one I gave you.”

“I’ll just keep it as a memento. Doesn’t matter if I can’t use it… I’ll just imagine myself using it,” I tell him. “It’s the thought that counts, anyway.”

He grins. “And now we’re even on the present-buying so there’s no need for you to upbraid me for spending money on you.”

“Even?” I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if you remember but a couple of weeks ago, you paid for dinner and movie tickets, and then you made dinner and bought crêpes when we went to that mountain, I mean, hill, or whatever you want to call it.”

Harry just shrugs and waves me off. “You’re making it even by keeping me company.”

I tilt my head to the side, not convinced yet (I’ll never be convinced). “Really?”

He shrugs again, insouciant. “None of the other lads would do that with me - you know, have dinner and go for a movie. Well, I mean,  _ Niall _ might be up for dinner but I think he’d rather order the whole McDonald’s menu than have a… reasonably-sized meal at a café. Liam might’ve opted in for walking up the hill but he wouldn’t have discussed the stars, his dreams and the misfortunes of life with me over a picnic. So, I guess it all works out, anyway.”

“I guess,” I repeat, still not reassured.

“Seriously, Lou,” he tells me firmly. “Money is a materialistic thing; it doesn’t matter to me. It’s the time we spend together that matters.”

I angle my head downwards to hide my intensifying blush as butterflies start actively fluttering around in my stomach. It’s times like this when I wish that Harry Styles wasn’t so sweet. Why can’t he be an unattractive, repulsive, unsophisticated shit-head of a person? That would make my life so much easier.

“Okay,” I reply sort of weakly, plastering a smile on my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, good news on my part: my friend that Nick is based on has recently informed me that only the reason why she was so against the lgbtq+ community was because everyone else at our christian school was. however, i don't know if she actually supports the community or just tolerates them. anyhow, it's an improvement !


	8. Bowling, Laser Tag and Lottie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lads play bowling and laser tag, and Lottie interrogates Louis.

The Friday straight after Zayn is discharged from a hospital, Nick manages to convince all of us to join him for a bowling and laser tag competition… well, it’s a bit of a stretch to say  _ convince _ , since I was the only one in need of being persuaded. It’s not that I didn’t want to hang out and spend some time with the lads, because I do. It’s because Mum has been importuning me to join the youth group at church, which takes place every Friday evening, for the past few weeks. She says that it’s about time that I find a group of like-minded, Christian friends to support me in my journey with God.

However, if there’s anything my parents have taught me over the course of my short, (almost) eighteen years, it’s how to be rebellious and how to get out of situations with just one little, white lie. Yeah, basically I told her that Harry had invited me to his youth group’s social night, which just so happened to be being held at a bowling alley. I suppose Mum neglected to recall that Harry does not actually attend his church’s youth group. I’ll be dead when she finds out. Hopefully, Harry remembers my requirements for my headstone.

In an eager attempt to escape the house as soon as possible, I leave forty minutes before we had scheduled to meet up and end up arriving at the bowling place twenty-five minutes early. Because I see no point in booking a lane just yet, I hang around the arcade area and watch people play air hockey or car racing games like a fucking creepy-ass stalker. I find myself thoroughly amused as one of the boys’ cars starts spinning and he ends up driving in the wrong direction for the rest of his game. Poor lad.

A group of seven loud, giggly girls approaches the photo booth, which is stationed off to the side. It’s quite small and it’s a wonder how they all fit into it, but somehow they manage (they probably were squashed, one on top of the other, like pancakes). My eyes flicker towards a young girl, who’s throwing a tantrum because her father refuses to pay ‘just three pounds’ for five game tokens. Ah, yes. There’s always that  _ one _ kid. Her father ends up sighing warily and escorting her out of the building before she can make a scene.

Fifteen minutes pass and although there are still ten more minutes before the lads are supposed to arrive, I’m starting to get a little anxious, standing by myself. I kind of feel like a lonesome wallflower amongst all the families and groups of friends here, that seem to be having the time of their lives. Just ten more minutes.

Fortunately, two minutes later, I spot a familiar head of dark hair and I nearly leap for joy, thanking the gods above for making Zayn come early for  _ once _ ! He doesn’t spot me immediately but when he does, he mirrors my large grin and wraps me up in a tight embrace. I position my head in the crook of his neck and scrunch my eyes closed in contentment.

“Missed you,” I tell him, gripping his waist tighter because I haven’t hugged him for, like, two weeks.

“Missed you too,” he responds, pulling away and glancing around the place, almost in awe. “I’m  _ so _ glad to be out of that damn hospital! It’s like the whole world was dead in there.”

I let out a laugh and I’m unsure as to whether I’m genuinely laughing at his words or just laughing in relief that he has saved me from being a loner.

“Well, the lads will be here soon,” I tell him, patting his arm. “Never thought I’d see the day when you came early!”

Zayn grins sheepishly. “Mum basically forced me out of the house ‘cause she thinks I’m fully deprived of social interaction.”

“Please, pass on my thanks to her,” I tell him, pressing my palms together like the folded hands emoji. “I was just about to die from boredom.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “How long have you been here for?”

“Twenty minutes,” I reply and if possible, his eyebrows rise even higher on his forehead. I shrug, “Needed to escape the house as fast as possible - become a runaway or someth- _ ah _ !”

I nearly topple over as a figure jumps and latches onto my neck, hanging precariously off my back like they're doing an imitation of a koala. And then I actually fall over, the person falling on top of me like we’ve just surrendered in the middle of a boxing match. I can’t say I’m surprised to see Niall’s bright, blue eyes, right in front of my face, when I open mine.

“Get off me,” I groan, rolling across the floor to the side so I’m not blocking people’s path.

“Mate, I swear you’re literally like the Leaning Tower of Pisa,” the blond boy comments, standing up and brushing off his clothes. He doesn’t even offer me a hand and so I just continue laying on the floor like a potato, watching the interaction as Niall practically leaps into Zayn’s arms. Rude.

“Zayn, absolutely delightful to have you back with us,” Niall says like a flight attendant, transforming into a necklace on Zayn’s neck. 

“Niall, my pleasure to be the tree that you’re hanging off of,” the dark-haired boy shoots back sarcastically, making Niall laugh cheerily as he removes himself from Zayn’s neck.

I am still on the ground. I wonder if Niall will remember that I’m here and finally help me up (I’m too lazy to get up by myself).

“So, how long did you spend on the hair tonight?” Niall inquires, reaching up to touch Zayn’s hair but the latter bats his hand away immediately.

“How many times do I have to tell you,  _ no _ touching!” Zayn exclaims in fright as Niall holds his hands up in defence. “Ten minutes, tops.”

“Liar. I bet you spent the whole day on it,” Niall retorts, sticking his tongue out cheekily before turning around. He lets his eyes wander for a second before they fall on me and he tilts his head in confusion. “The fuck you doing on the floor?”

I muster a glare at him. “I’m waiting for you to give me a hand up since you ever-so-gently wrestled me to the floor.”

“Oh, really?” Niall quirks an eyebrow, walking over to me.

The fucker just steps over me, doesn’t bat an eye and picks up a food menu from one of the coffee tables. I watch him incredulously, with my mouth hung open, as he studies the paper for a good minute or two.

“Tough luck, mate,” Zayn says sympathetically, leaning against a random couch with a smirk playing on his lips. He has his arms crossed over his chest and he looks like a too-cool-for-you punk kid.

I glare at him. “I might as well just fall asleep here.”

I continue to get comfortable on my position on the floor, beside the back of a couch, completely aware that this is severely unhygienic and that I’ll probably show symptoms of a virus within a day or two. It’s Niall’s fault if I get sick, anyway. I only close one of my eyes and watch out for the other lads, ignoring the strange glances that I’m receiving from people who pass by. One girl, who’s sporting a fancy polka dot party hat, even points at me and giggles something to her mother, who sends me a disapproving look. Again, it’s all Niall’s fault.

“Liam!” I suddenly hear Niall exclaim and there’s a slight pause when they hug, I assume. I hear some light footsteps but they’re slightly overshadowed by the noise of the bowling that’s going on in the background. “Zayn’s here and Louis’ just having a nap.”

Without even so much as sparing a glance at me, Liam heads straight for Zayn, attacking him in a bone-crushing hug. “Mate, it’s been too long!”

“You literally saw me yesterday,” Zayn replies, his voice slightly muffled.

I can practically feel Liam rolling his eyes, even though I can’t see. “Yeah, but it was hardly an ideal location to hang out.”

Zayn makes some sort of noise of agreement.

“Anyways, congrats on getting out,” Liam continues and I hear his footsteps increase in volume. Before I know it, he’s standing over me, looking at me curiously. “You alright down there?”

I begin, “Just wonder-”

“He’s fine,” Niall skips up behind Liam and places his hand on his shoulder. “He’s used to it, anyway - looking up at people.”

I reach out to pull at Niall’s ankle and he shrieks as he falls backwards, landing on his arse with a grunt. He glares at me and I return it.

“That’s what you get,” I jibe, earning a laugh from Liam before he looks up and stands taller.

“Harry! What impeccable timing you have,” he says. “Your damsel in distress needs some saving here.”

I facepalm at that, leaving my hands there to cover my face. I probably look like a proper rubbish dump, all sprawled out on the floor like this.

“Is that so?” a deeper voice replies that’s so distinct that I immediately know it’s Harry. I mean, I would’ve known that it belongs to him, even if it wasn’t deep.

I move one of my fingers and peek through the gap to see Harry leaning over and looking down at me quizzically, his curls falling off of his shoulders. He’s upside down but somehow looks just as handsome as ever. Fuck, I need to stop thinking these things.

“You wanna know how he ended up down there?” Niall’s voice asks, filled with mischief.

I groan as Harry turns his head to look at Niall. “Enlighten me.”

“Well, you see,” Niall starts off and I know it’s already going to be an absolute disaster of a story, “he was walking into the building when a little girl came up to him and asked him to sign her balloon because she thought he was Frankie Sandford. So he signed the balloon but then, the girl asked him to play  _ hide and seek _ with her, which he agreed to. He decided to try and fit under the couch, which was  _ stupid _ because it’s only, like, one millimetre off the ground, and obviously, he failed, so now he’s just lying there like a blobfish. Security already came  _ twice _ to ask him to move but he’s too lazy. Tell him to get up ‘cause we’re gonna get kicked out, otherwise, and it’ll all be his fault.”

Niall, lad, are you feeling okay? Do you have a fever? Perhaps, a neurologist should take a look at your brain because it’s fucking messed up. Best wishes, Louis. 

Harry lets out a melodic laugh that makes my heart warm in my chest. Ugh, I really need to stop feeling so much when I’m around him.

“Why am I not surprised?” he asks and I take back everything I just said. He’s a traitor, but a helpful one. He bends down and holds out his hands for me to grip as he heaves my lazy arse off the ground. “Come on. Up we go.”

I let go of his hands and smooth down my clothes before patting down my hair and scowling at Niall, which only makes him smile wider.

“You’re such a wanker,” I snap playfully at him, making him lean his head back and laugh. “Only caring about yourself.”

“Lads!” a new voice calls and I whip around to see Nick bundling towards us with a large grin on his face. He frowns as he glances around at us. “Oh, dang it. I was hoping I wasn’t going to be the last one.”

“Not to worry!” Niall chirps, nodding his head towards me. “We were waiting for Louis to wake up, anyway.”

“And I,” I rush to explain myself, “was waiting for Niall to start acting like a proper gentleman and help me up.”

“Lads,” Liam suddenly appears in my vision, holding a pair of bowling shoes and I hadn’t even realised that he had gone somewhere. “I’ve paid for a game so get your shoes. We’re in the lane furthest to the left and Niall, you still owe me nine pounds.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll get it,” Niall mutters, shoving his hand in his pocket and pulling out a handful of loose change, slowly placing coin after coin into Liam’s open palm. He retracts the coins after putting down five, starting to count up the money again.

“Good God, Niall,” Liam grumbles. “Can you hurry up already?” 

“I’m  _ trying _ to count, Liam Payne!” Niall exclaims, taking back the coins for the second time and commencing his counting once again. “One, two, three…”

“I just want to know why you  _ only _ have pennies,” Liam demands.

“I have two pence coins too!”

I shake my head fondly at the interaction and head towards the counter, requesting a size nine from the lady. She bends down to retrieve a pair of shoes and places it on the counter in front of me, wishing me a good game. I thank her and make my way to lane one, where the previous group is packing up their belongings, just about to leave. I sit on the couch and slip off my shoes, slipping on the bowling ones and tying them tight.

“I haven’t been bowling in  _ ages _ ,” Zayn muses next to me and I nearly jump because I didn’t notice him before. “Feels good to be back.”

“Yeah? Excited to get beaten?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows up and down cheekily.

“Fat chance,” he responds with a smirk. “My muscle memory is incomparable.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I turn my head as Nick plops down next to me, undoing the knot that ties his pair of shoes together before dropping them on the ground and slipping them on.

“Niall’s asked for bumpers,” he tells me and honestly, I’m not surprised.

“Of course, he did,” I chuckle. “Think he’s still going to come last, though.”

“Lad wants to pull off some stunts,” Nick says. “He’ll probably end up killing one or two people in the process.”

As if on cue, I look up to see Niall dragging one of the bowling ramps, all the way from lane five to out lane. He’s got a large smile on his face, like a child that’s never been bowling before but has heard wonderful stories about it.

“Watch me climb to the top,” he says, eyeing us carefully to make us consider his words for real.

Nick huffs. “Only ‘cause you’re getting bumpers as well.”

Niall grins mischievously. “It’s all part of a strategy.”

After Niall returns for the second time after realising that he asked for a pair of shoes that were two sizes too small, I wander over to the bowler console and press the  _ start _ button. The large screen on the opposite end of the lane lights up and plays a few advertisements before switching to the music video of  _ Only Girl (In The World) _ . You’ve  _ got _ to be kidding me.

“Lads, watch me get a strike on the first go,” Liam says, standing up when he sees that his name is first on the scoreboard.

He stretches his hands over his head and leans from side to side, flexing his muscles like he’s about to do some hardcore physical exercise. He grabs one of the heavier balls and makes a big show of preparing to bowl before letting go of it. The ball whizzes down the lane and I think I have some competition (not that I’m any good at bowling anyway).

Niall cheers, “Nine! Go, Payno. Get a spare!”

Liam, indeed, manages to get a spare and I lean back on the couch, my eyes wide as I realise that I  _ really _ need to step up my game if everyone else is on Liam’s level. Well, Niall’s probably going to be silly because he doesn’t give a shit about if he comes last but jokes on me, I’ll probably struggle to keep up with him, anyway. Damn, I should’ve been smart like Niall and asked for bumpers as well.

Speaking of which, it’s Niall’s turn next and sure enough, the bumpers slowly emerge out of the ground and Niall positions his ramp in the centre of the lane, carefully making sure that it’s right, smack bang in the middle. As if he’s trying to be the complete opposite of Liam, he grabs the lightest ball and places it on the top of the ramp before letting it roll down the slope.

“I feel like everything has just gone into slow motion,” Zayn mutters as we all watch Niall’s ball travel down the lane like a fucking snail. As it inches towards the pins, Niall stands there with his hands clasped in anticipation.

He knocks down seven pins, which is not too bad at all, I suppose, as I envision my ball rolling straight into the gutter. Unfortunately for Niall, the last three pins that he has to knock down in order to get a spare are positioned on either side of the lane. Even more unfortunate for him, he forgets to angle his ramp to the side, causing his ball to roll straight down the middle, without knocking down any more pins.

“That’s some big brain energy right there,” I mumble as Niall returns with a sullen look on his face.

According to the scoresheet, it’s my turn next, so I stand up and grab one of the balls that feels decently heavy, but light enough for me to be able to actually move with it. I don’t know very much about bowling balls and which size would be best suited for me but I guess I’ll just have to go with the flow and wing it. I step up to the lane and sigh as I realise that Niall left his ramp in the middle of it.

“Niall, can you please clean up after yourself next time?” I call, lazily looking over my shoulder.

“D-I-Y! Do it yourself!” he hollers from behind me and I huff, dragging the heavy ramp off to the side with a single hand. If you feel sorry for me, you should.

If you couldn’t already tell, I’m quite an amateur at this whole bowling thing. I only know that I have to put my three fingers in the ball, swing my arm, let go, wait and just hope that the ball will go where I want it to go. I’m not sure if there’s a proper technique for bowling (but I assume there is one because there is such a thing as a professional bowler) but whatever it is, I don’t have it.

I follow through with the minimal amount of knowledge I have about bowling and just stand there, with my toes facing inwards and my teeth digging into my bottom lip, anxiously waiting for the bowl to reach the other side. See, there’s a reason why I don’t play sports in front of people (except for football because I’m actually somewhat decent at it), because I’ll always find a way to embarrass myself. I can only hope that through my non-existent telepathic abilities, my thoughts will be transmitted to the ball and it will end up going where I want it to go.

By some divine miracle, I manage to knock down eight pins and now I know for sure that it was just a fluke. No way am I going to be able to knock down eight pins again on my next turn. On my second bowl, I knock down the remaining two pins, which  _ has _ to be another miracle because that shit doesn’t just happen by itself. Watch my ball go into the gutter when it’s my next turn.

“You’re not half bad at this, mate,” Nick compliments me, high fiving me before standing up for his turn.

I lean over to Zayn. “First time lucky, next time not so lucky.”

Zayn pats my shoulder encouragingly. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to drop a ball on my feet!” I exclaim dramatically.

“Your poor toes,” he replies monotonously, the sarcasm dripping in his tone.

“I’m going to shot put it into someone’s face,” I tell him and guffaws.

“Better not be mine,” he replies. “Maybe we should get an actual roof-to-ground barrier around our lane instead of just a bumper.”

“Maybe,” I hum, looking back to Nick as he expertly bowls, his ball knocking down all ten of the pins and earning him a strike.

He fist pumps in the air and jogs back to us (I’m pretty sure it’s, like, illegal to jog in a bowling alley) with a wide grin on his face. “Setting the standard high for you lads!”

“Not for long, Grimshaw,” Harry speaks up, standing up and grabbing a ball for his turn.

I watch him intently as he walks up to the lane and swings his arm a few times in preparation, taking his run up (or walk up) before letting the ball fly smoothly from his hand. Even though his footwork is a bit questionable and he looks like he’s on the verge of tripping over his feet, he looks pretty fucking hot, playing bowling. If he keeps this up, I’m going to have to be careful tonight so I don’t end up staring at him with heart eyes for too long and getting caught.

Because Harry is Harry, he predictably gets a strike. I don’t know why he was created to be good at literally everything but it’s kind of unfair. He walks back towards us, smirking at Nick before sending a wink my way (fucking egotistical bastard). I’d be lying if I denied that the butterflies began to wake up in my stomach. I just hope that my blush will become tame.

“Wish me luck,” Zayn says as he stands up for his turn and because I’m such a good friend, I cheer for him behind his back.

“I wish you lots of luck,” I spur him on with my hands cupped around my mouth (that’s probably also really unhygienic because I literally just touched a bowling ball. Who knows how much nasal mucus has been smothered over it!).

Zayn gives me a lopsided half-grin as he steps up to the lane and takes his shot, knocking down nine pins, just like Liam had done previously. I gulp because it’s then that I realise that all of the lads are more than decent at bowling. How am I supposed to keep up? Maybe I should just start treating it like a joke, like Niall, so I don’t have to embarrass myself with my terrible, terrible bowling skills. It’s more humiliating to fail when it looks like you’re actively  _ trying _ to win.

“Smashed it, man” I look up Zayn and ruffle his hair as he sits down.

“Muscle memory,” he grins.

Liam begins the next round, only managing to knock down five pins before hitting another three. He makes it look easy, even though he keeps using the heaviest ball of the lot. I suppose there must be some sort of special bowling technique that almost ensures a strike every time, huh. Props to professional bowlers because a strike is only a once in a lifetime occurrence for me.

“Where the hell is Niall?” Liam asks when he approaches the couches and realises that the blond boy is nowhere to be seen. I furrow my eyebrows, glancing around because I could’ve sworn that he was  _ just _ here. Oh, well. It’s typical of Niall to wander off so I guess I’ll just have to wait for a few hours for my turn, while he orders the whole menu of the Nando’s next door.

“He’s getting food,” Harry replies with a shrug and I press my lips together, slightly pleased with myself for guessing that.

I tilt my head to the side and frown, wondering if it would be adjudged as inconsiderate of Niall to order a bunch of food and place all of it on the table, right in front of Zayn’s nose. I’m not quite sure what goes on in the mind of a person, who is recovering from an eating disorder when they are around food but I’m a little concerned. Zayn’s not the type of person to speak up or make a huge fuss if he’s uncomfortable, which is a problem, because then no one will actually know if he’s uncomfortable.

I’m a little on edge when Niall returns with a truck load of boxes of hot food and bags of chips in his arms because I don’t know how Zayn will react. I try to sort of glance at his facial expression in my peripheral vision, without turning my head too much so I don’t look like I’m staring. From the little that I can see, his face remains neutral and indifferent when Niall dumps the food on the table, which is a good sign, I suppose.

Okay, Louis. Act normal.

I lean forward to open one of the boxes and I take a hot chip, careful to not get sauce on my hand (I probably should’ve washed my hands first. Gosh, I’m  _ so _ unhygienic). I slowly place it in my mouth, wondering that if I stuff my face too rapidly, Zayn will get overwhelmed by my action. He’s not fidgeting or tapping his fingers on the couch, or showing any signs of being in discomfort, for that matter. In fact, he surprises me when he bends forward to take a chip and stare at it for a second before tentatively putting it in his mouth.

Act normal. Act  _ fucking _ normal. Don’t make it seem like a big deal.

Would I be making it a big deal if I told Zayn that I’m proud of him for eating a hot chip? I muse over it because on one hand, I’m really proud of him for eating but at the same time, I feel like I should just let him eat in peace and not act like I’m observing his every move like a hawk. Yeah, I should probably just keep my mouth shut and leave him be.

“Niall, hurry up. You’re holding up the game,” Nick complains as he gestures towards Niall’s highlighted name on the scoreboard.

“Okay, sorry, sorry!” Niall exclaims, swallowing his mouthful of food and licking his fingers. I internally cringe because of the germs (although, I really shouldn’t talk because I didn’t wash my hands either).

He rushes towards the lane and grabs a ball, standing with his back to pins and letting it go through his legs. It rolls to the right and he’s lucky that he has bumpers because otherwise, it would’ve definitely fallen into the gutter. The ball ends up only knocking down three pins.

The game continues on with Harry and Nick taking quite an even lead, Nick always barely coming out on top by just three or so points (I suspect that Harry’s strange footwork is hindering him, but whatever floats his boat, I guess). I steadily remain at a consistent fourth place throughout the whole game and I’m just grateful that I’m not humiliating myself by having a score that sinks lower than Niall’s.

Niall… well, Niall just does his thing. Every time it’s his turn, he seems to come up with another bizarre way to roll the ball towards the pins. A lot of the time, he does it facing backwards or to the side. I think the only time he faced forward was when he used the ramp on his first go. At one point, he sort of ends up throwing the ball too high, causing it to soar in the air and land in the third lane over. Don’t even ask me how he managed to do that, even with his bumpers, because I have no fucking clue.

To my satisfaction, Zayn seems to be having a wonderful time, hanging out with us lads and surmise that it’s because of how lonely he was in the hospital by himself, for almost two weeks. He chats cheerfully with Liam, occasionally popping some food into his mouth and even though it’s not quite a lot, at least it’s a start.

The game concludes with Nick beating Harry by a marginal two points and he gloats about it for a short amount of time before suggesting that we should go for a round of laser tag. Liam readily agrees because he’s the type of person that wants to live life like a mystery or thriller movie. Niall, to be honest, mostly spends his time preoccupied with food, but he’s also quite eager to  _ beat _ us in laser tag. It’s not going to happen and I know that for a fact.

Naturally, Harry and I join forces as a team and we choose the teal vests because it’s kind of like a combination of our eye colours (how cute is that?). I don’t know if it’s just our synergy coming into play but whenever we’re a team, we always somehow manage to come out at the top, no matter who we’re up against. The thought sends pleasant shivers down my spine and I smile giddily at the butterflies in my stomach.

“Why am I called  _ Glitterball _ ?” I question, scrunching up my nose as I frown at the name on my gun. Damn, I really should have checked the name before putting on the vest.

“Don’t worry,” Harry reassures me, angling his gun towards me with a bashful grin. “I’m called  _ Sparkles _ .”

“We literally sound like  _ My Little Pony _ ’s,” I say flatly, thinking back to whenever my sisters decide to watch the show.

“Lads, I got a cool name,” Niall skips up to us in his yellow vest, showing us his gun that’s illuminated with the name  _ Snipe _ . “It’s a sign.”

“That you’re going to lose?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Fuck off,” he glares at me, quietening his voice when Nick approaches us.

“I’m called  _ Falcon _ ,” he says, a small smirk on his face. “And that’s going to be the name at the top rank at the end of the game.”

“Hey, we’re supposed to be a  _ team _ !” Niall protests, dragging Nick into a corner so they can discuss what I assume to be their ‘strategy’.

I spin around when I feel a hand on my shoulder and I turn to see Liam looking down at me with a large grin, holding up his gun like it’s a sort of trophy. It glows a sharp, piercing shade of red that probably symbolises evil or something.

“Watch out for  _ Vader _ ,” he tells me, his voice going low like he’s threatening me but I feel the edges of my lips turn up into a grin.

“Watch out for  _ Glitterball _ ,” I reply brightly, in not quite the same threatening tone as his as I lift up my gun and tap his with it like we’re having a toast.

Liam laughs before jutting out his thumb in Zayn’s direction. “Also, watch out for  _ Inferno _ .”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will be,” I respond, my voice going dark all of a sudden. I narrow my eyes and look up at him through my lashes. “But you won’t ‘cause you’ll be too busy running away.” I saunter over to Harry and lazily wrap my arm around his shoulders. “Harry and I, our teamwork is phenomenal. You’re daft if you think you can beat us.”

Harry nods in agreement. “We’ll be kicking all of your flat arses within the first minute.”

“At least we have less surface area for you to potentially spot us,” Liam counters and Zayn snickers from behind him.

The supervisor calls for our attention and orders us to line up with our partners in an orderly fashion so she can double-check that we have our vests on correctly. It was wise of her to do so because one of the kids from the purple team had somehow managed to put his kit on backwards. When the kid finished fixing his vest and picking up his glasses from the floor after knocking them right off of his nose with his gun, the supervisor opened the door and allowed us to troop into the ill-lit arena.

Harry and I had come to the decision that we should each go off in our own direction because if we were together, it’d be too easy for the other teams to take us down. So, during the thirty-second grace period, I manage to find myself a comfortable hiding place behind one of the walls, with a convenient hole in it so I can sneakily spy on my combatants. To my dismay, a yellow light appears right around the corner and a figure walks straight into me as if they hadn’t been watching their step.

Oh, of course, it’s Niall. I should’ve known.

“Niall! Go find your own hiding spot!” I hiss, shoving him off of my lap and sending him tumbling forwards like a roly-poly.

“Ugh, whatever,” he groans as he picks himself off of the ground. He trudges away from me, muttering, “I’ll be coming back for you.”

A voice inside the arena notifies us that the grace period has officially ended and once the voice fades out, music fills the room. The music seems appropriate for a laser tag match, resembling the non-diegetic sounds in an action movie, with an edge of adventure. Chills run up my spines as I’m overcome by a rush of adrenaline.

After about fifteen seconds, I start hearing the sounds of people shooting each other and guns getting suspended from shooting as a penalty for being shot. I decide that I should probably stop playing it safe and actually put some effort into the game, so I shift myself into a crouching position, peeking through the hole in the wall. Almost immediately, my eye catches a pink luminescence and I lift up my gun to aim, pressing the trigger and causing the light to flicker and die out.

Success for my first shot!

I should’ve guessed that Niall was going to rediscover my hiding spot because he comes around the corner again, casually aiming his gun at me and shooting down my vest. He immediately scurries off and my gun vibrates in my hand, nictitating off. Okay, Niall. I see how it is.

I make up my mind to be audacious for once and I venture out of my safe haven, slinking around and keeping my eyes peeled for my opponents. I have my gun ready and my finger on the trigger, prepared to take down anyone who enters my line of vision. So when I spot a red light, I’m already shooting at it before the victim can even notice me. In his own words,  _ tough luck _ , Zayn.

I’ve played my fair share of laser tag games in the past but I’ve never played against as little as eight people before. Thus, it’s harder to stumble upon people and the majority of my time is spent wandering around aimlessly. I try to keep my back close to the walls so I lower the risk of getting shot from behind.

Somehow, out of all the other people I could possibly come across, I find Harry, standing with his back in a corner. He’s observing the darkness to his left side through a hole in the wall, so he doesn’t notice me when I pass him. Because I have nothing better to do, I find my way around the maze and pop my head through the same hole, a silly grin stretched on my face.

“Found you,” I whisper to him, slithering away before he has a chance to reply and patiently awaiting my next kill (or shoot, because I’m not really killing anyone, am I?).

In the next few minutes, I manage to shoot Nick, Liam and a person from the purple team, all in a row and I smile to myself, pleased with my effort. To some extent, this is a harder game of laser tag than I’ve ever played before because it’s simply lacking in people, but it’s sort of fun to just sneak around with not too much to worry about. At one point, I get shot down again by someone on the pink team, this time.

I find Niall again and shoot at him, winking at him and skipping off as he turns around to glare at me, huffing crossly and muttering, “Bastard.”

But before I know it, the voice in the arena starts talking again, telling us that our game is over and that we have sixty seconds to make our way out of the room. The floor lights along the bottom edges of the wall illuminate, making it less difficult to see. I find my way to the exit and smooth down my hair as I reenter the waiting room.

The TV screen positioned in the top right corner of the room already has our final scores tallied up and I’m quite pleasantly surprised to see my name,  _ Glitterball _ , printed next to the second rank. Apparently, I managed to receive a score of 9085 and a twenty-one percent accuracy rate. I’m quite proud of myself, if I’m being honest.

“You’re not too bad at that,” a gravelly voice suddenly says from beside me as a large hand tousles my hair. I swat Harry’s hand away from my hair because I literally  _ just _ fixed it. I take another glance at the scoreboard and sure enough,  _ Sparkles _ is printed right on top of mine.

“And I can say with complete confidence that you undoubtedly suck at laser tag,” I drawl with derision.

Harry smirks and places his hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “We make a good team.”

After that, Niall, seemingly already over his loss at laser tag, ushers the five of us out of the room and towards the arcade area. There aren’t very many people occupying the space anymore, with only two people playing car racing games. We almost have the area to ourselves.

“Anyone want to play hockey with me?” Liam asks and Nick volunteers himself, grabbing one of the pushers and standing on the opposite end of the table to Liam.

“We need tokens,” Nick points out, his eyes falling on the token door on the side of the board.

“Oh, no worries,” Liam says, digging into one of his pockets and pulling out one of the pennies that Niall had given to him earlier. He holds it up. “They’re about the same size. How nifty.”

Liam slots the penny into the token door, cheating the system and the sides of the hockey table light up, telling them that their game has begun. As Liam and Nick go into competition mode, I wander towards a claw machine that’s filled with various Mario Kart plushies. The claw that’s stuck up the top of the box looks extremely flimsy and I know for sure that I have exactly zero percent a chance of obtaining a plushie.

“I want a Peach one,” Zayn says as he stands next to me.

“Go ahead and try your luck,” I tell him doubtfully, gesturing towards the machine but he just laughs and shakes his head.

“I’ll go bankrupt before I manage to get it,” he responds before looking pensive. “Which one do you want?”

“Luigi,” I answer almost immediately, a wave of nostalgia washing over me as I think back to the first time that Harry and I had teamed up together to obliterate the other lads at Mario Kart.

At first, we had argued over which character we should choose because Harry was being basic and had insisted on selecting Mario, but I had my heart set on Yoshi. So eventually, we had decided to combine Mario and Yoshi’s green colour, and came to a concordance that we would choose Luigi. I smile fondly to myself at the maudlin reminiscence.

“Oh, of course, Harry and your favourite character,” Zayn grins, his eyes gazing over the various character plushies inside the machine. “You two always seem to sweep the board, no matter what. I swear, it’s almost as if you share a collective brain cell ninety-nine percent of the time.”

My lips automatically stretch into a bashful, closed-mouth smile and I look at my feet to hide the reddish-pink tint that spreads on my cheeks. I feel my face and the back of my neck heat up as I shove my hands in my pockets in an attempt to seem uninhibited. Zayn’s hitting all the right places and he doesn’t even know it - or at least, I certainly hope he doesn’t. I bite my lip to stop myself from breaking out into a full-on grin.

“Maybe ‘cause we’ve known each other for a long time,” I suggest weakly, even though I know it’s a tenuous intimation.

“Maybe,” Zayn shrugs, thankfully not noticing my change in demeanour. “But haven’t you known Nick for longer?”

“Yes,” I acknowledge. “But that’s different.”

He raises an eyebrow and side-glances at me briefly before shifting his eyes back to the inside of the claw machine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I reply simply, pausing for a moment and wondering if I should elaborate more. I eventually decide in favour of it with a sigh. “Nick’s different ‘cause he doesn’t, you know,  _ get _ me. Nick’s outgoing and he’s friends with everyone but he doesn’t care to know someone  _ that _ much, if you know what I mean. Whereas Harry… Harry’s more empathetic, I guess, and he’s open to getting to know someone on a deeper level.”

“He’s open to getting to know someone on a deeper level, huh,” Zayn echoes my words, his voice sounding far away.

“Yeah, exactly,” I say, my voice almost at a whispering level as I watch Harry chase Niall around the arcade area after Niall stole the tickets that he won from one of the games. He grabs Niall in a headlock, tackling him to the ground as the blond boy squeaks for help, even though no one’s going to help him, anyway.

“You know I’m quiet and reserved, and I like to sit back and watch as everything unfolds,” he tells me and I knit my eyebrows together, wondering what on earth he’s talking about. He continues, “It makes me notice things.”

I tip my head to the side, considering his words but nothing comes to mind. I ask, “What are you on about?”

“I’m not blind,” Zayn says, turning to face me. Although there’s a slight, cutting edge to his tone, his dark eyes are warm and soft. “I know you want him as more than your best mate.”

I freeze. My jaw drops open and my face falters for more than a second, which is incredibly bad because now Zayn knows that he’s right. Fuck.  _ How _ does he know? Since  _ when _ did he know?  _ What _ more does he know? No, no, no. He  _ can’t _ know. Hell, I’m not even out to him yet!

Alas, nothing can get past Zayn and my reaction is enough for him to raise his eyebrows with an  _ I knew it _ expression. There’s simply no point in me even trying to deny it.

I scratch my head, rattled, before setting my jaw firmly and sighing. “It will pass.”

I nearly choke as the words come out of my mouth but they feel like knives digging into my heart, slowly and steadily, like they want the pain to last for as long as possible. The backs of my eyes suddenly become hot and I pray to God that I do not start crying about this in front of Zayn, and inside of a damn bowling alley.

Zayn looks at me, his expression mirroring scepticism. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you.”

“I’m not,” I reply flatly.

He presses his lips together, glancing away from me before meeting my eyes again. “Why are you so against the idea then?”

I give him an  _ are you serious _ look but when he continues looking at me expectantly, I huff and continue, “Are you ready for this?” he nods. “Well, let’s see - my parents, Harry himself, my parents, my church, I’m not out yet, my parents, the world, Harry himself, Nick, my entire extended family, the Bible, myself, my parents-”

“Stop,” Zayn interrupts, holding up a hand and I close my mouth, awaiting his reply. “You and Harry… you  _ always _ win at everything, whether it’d be Mario Kart or Laser Tag. I have no doubt that you two can win at life too.

He speaks, looking down at me earnestly. I open my mouth to argue but then close it, not even knowing what to say. 

He pats my head with a small smile. “Just think about it, okay?”

I just nod in response as he removes himself from standing in front of me, my mouth unable to come up with anything to say.

***

Harry drives me home at 10 pm, insisting that it’s far too dangerous for me to be taking public transport so late at night when it’s dark and open for anyone to kidnap me. I know he’s right but I protest anyway. Even though arguments roll off of my tongue like spitfire, he continues to stand his ground, adding that he’s got nowhere to be tonight so it’s no problem (he also uses my 10 pm curfew against me which I’m not too pleased about). I’m eventually forced to give in to him because who can resist Harry Styles anyway?

I’m not ready to go to bed, when I step foot on my front porch, because adrenaline is still pumping throughout my whole body. I have a permanent smile etched on my face, which makes me remarkably resemble a Cheshire Cat, and I’m pretty sure my eyes could probably replace a damn LED light bulb (although, it would emit blue light… but who cares because blue lights are excellent for parties!). However, I figure that I’ve spoken too soon, the moment I enter the house.

“Oh, honey. You’re home!” Mum says, bustling towards me and wrapping me up in a hug. She’s in a whole different mood than last week and I’m beginning to question whether mood swings only affect teenagers. She pulls away and ruffles my hair, beaming like she hasn’t seen me in years. “Did you have fun?”

“Um, yeah…?” I reply, more like a question because how else am I supposed to respond? Here I am, standing in front of my own mother, awkwardly, fiddling with my sleeves and shifting on the balls of my feet. That just goes to show how uncomfortable I am around my own  _ family _ .

“That’s great, honey,” she says, a warm smile stretching on her face. “So, you managed to bond with some of the boys in Harry’s youth group?”

I almost falter when she says  _ boys _ but then remember that she definitely does  _ not _ know that I’m gay, and she simply does not want me to fall into temptation by being around girls. Huh. I suppose it could be beneficial to me that she doesn’t want me to hang out with girls because that means that I can be around boys all the time without being questioned.

I plaster a forced smile on my face and put a few of my teeth on display, just for good measure. “Yeah, they were very welcoming.”

She seems to light up even more at that. “Well, I think it was wonderful of Harry’s youth group to host a social night to bring all of you boys together. Did you win?”

My eyes widen and almost choke on my own saliva, even though it’s a relatively easy  _ yes or no _ question to answer. I manage to spit out, “Uh, no… um, Niall did. Yeah, Niall won.”

I mentally slap my forehead because out of  _ all _ people, why did I have to bring  _ Niall _ up? And why  _ Niall _ when he also happened to come  _ last _ ? Gosh, I’m such a dimwit when it comes to lying.

She knits her eyebrows together, her former smile dropping from her face and being replaced by a confused expression. “Niall? I didn’t know that he attends Harry’s youth group. I thought that he’s an atheist?”

“Y-Yeah, um,” I stammer, wishing for my brain to form a believable lie and put it into a coherent sentence for me, “Harry, uh, invited him tonight. Yeah…”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, is that so?”

I decide to shut my mouth in case I end up inadvertently saying something stupid, and I just nod profusely.

“Well, that’s just lovely!” she exclaims, a smile forming on her face again. “I’m glad you have a friend like Harry. He’s such a good influence.”

I internally heave a sigh of relief.

“Y-Yeah, he is,” I splutter, refusing to meet her eyes in case the obvious fear in mine blows my cover.

“Alright, honey. Well, I’ll be going off to bed now,” she tells me, embracing me in another unreciprocated hug. “Love you. Don’t stay up too late.”

I mumble an incoherent response as she shuffles away, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

The house is deathly quiet, I realise, and I almost feel like I’m inside a horror movie, awaiting a ghost attack. There’s a dim lamp standing on the edge of the counter, which is programmed to turn off at midnight. It flickers slightly and the thought of it burning out and leaving me amidst a sea of darkness sends chills running down my spine, almost like ants. I shiver and shake my head to rid myself of my morbid thoughts, quietly heading upstairs.

I close the door behind me when I enter my room, ensuring that I’m making as little noise as possible as to not wake up the girls. The brief conversation with Mum somehow managed to drain me of all my remaining energy so I flop face-first onto my bed, spreading my arms out like a starfish. My head is buried in my blanket, which restricts my breathing quite a bit, but I’m far too tired to do anything about it.

It suddenly occurs to me that I’m in desperate need of taking a shower because I have just spent the last few hours in a close proximity to equipment that’s practically coated with germs, and I’ve shed my fair share of sweat. Forget being quiet; showering is the only thing that will keep me sane right now because I can’t cleanse myself mentally.

I groan as I force myself to my feet, mindlessly grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweats that had been laying around on the floor for no reason. I probably left them down there this morning, when I was half asleep. I stilly open my door and tiptoe towards the bathroom, turning on the yellow light and locking myself inside. I blink a couple of times so my eyes can get used to the light and the first thing I catch sight of is my reflection in the mirror. Gosh, I really do look as shitty as I feel.

With a huff, I quickly strip off my clothes, goosebumps forming on my skin as the temperature drops considerably. I cautiously step into the shower and slowly turn on the water, as if by doing it gradually, it’ll make less noise. It doesn’t. In fact, the water sounds like a thunderstorm in my ears. 

The hot water feels sort of cathartic as it hits my skin, dripping down my body, flowing towards the centre of the shower and eventually going down the drain. It’s at just the right temperature and just the right amount of pressure for it to soothe my muscles and relax my senses. The water condenses the shower glass and I can no longer see my reflection in the mirror. There’s no reason for me to be self-conscious of my body if I can’t see what it looks like.

The fog also blocks out the rest of the world, providing me with a sequestered area to think without any distractions or interruptions. It’s my safe haven, where I can let go and allow my thoughts to run wild. I don’t have to fear any judgement and I don’t have to worry about other things trying to intrude and influence my mind. I can smile and laugh all I want, and no outsider will be able to give me strange looks. I can sob and cry as much as I need to, and no outsider will be able to pressure me into telling them what’s wrong.

Water is fundamental for survival. A human can only last three to four days without water and that’s almost no time at all compared to the expected natural lifespan of a human. We practically rely on water to keep us alive, no matter if it comes in the form of a different drink, a food or even just by itself. Water is essentially the thing that sustains all life.

But on the other hand, it only takes one slip of the foot for water to wrap you in its arms and engulf you inside of it. And before you know it, you’re sinking and sinking and sinking, further and further into the abyss. You’re drowning and even if you know how to swim, it doesn’t matter. There’s no point in trying to doggy paddle your way back to the top. You’re in too deep and the only option left is to succumb and remain in the water. You’ll end up breaking when the water realises that you have nothing useful to offer and it focuses its attention on its next victim. You’ll want to hate the water for what it’s done to you but you can’t because it’s not even aware of its own actions in the first place.

It sort of reminds me of Harry.

Ever since we met in year three, Harry has been that one person that I couldn’t possibly live without. As a matter of fact, I barely made it by during the first nine years of my life. He’s that person that I don’t have to be afraid around. I can do whatever I want or say whatever’s on my mind without having to be scared of his judgement because I know full well that he won’t pass any. I can be the stupidest, most idiotic version of myself and he’ll still find a silver lining to it. I can rant to him about anything and everything, to the point where I end up bawling my eyes out, but he’ll still be there to comfort me and hold me in his arms. I don’t believe that I’d be able to survive more than two days without Harry. 

For those reasons, I know that I should be fully content with the version of Harry that I have. I know that I shouldn’t be greedy and keep wanting more of him because I’m never going to get that. I know that what we already have should be enough for me because at the end of the day, if I still have him as my best friend, what more can I ask for? It’s far better than having none of him at all. But concomitantly, I can’t help but want more… no, I  _ crave _ more. Harry is the single best thing that has ever happened to me and if anyone else gets to experience that feeling apart from me, I might just lose it completely. It’s selfish and possessive, I know, and I wish I could stop myself from feeling like this but I can’t help it. I wonder how my parents came to the conclusion that the only way to be in love is if it’s worked for. I have more than fallen.

I’m so in love with him that it hurts - it hurts both physically and mentally. I can feel my heart burn in my chest every time I think of him. It’s ripping slowly but surely. My mind is twisted and confused, and I’ve been constantly contemplating my feelings for him for a long time, but now, I don’t think I can keep up with arguing with myself anymore. His internal and external beauty just has that effect on me; it pulls me towards him like a magnet - like it’s water trying to drown me. And I can’t get away from him, no matter how much I force myself to pull away, no matter how well I build up my calf muscles, no matter how much I tell myself that I can’t have him… like that. It’s not even a question about sexuality anymore because I’m already out to him. But the harsh reality is I know that he’ll only ever see me as his best mate - Louis; never as his love - Louis.

Yet even if one day he does end up reciprocating my feelings for him, which I doubt will happen anyway, it wouldn’t work out. We… well, we just can’t. I’ve already created hell for myself by falling in love with a boy but there’s no way I can actually  _ be _ in a relationship with a boy. It doesn’t matter how supportive I am of the LGBTQ+ community. It doesn’t matter that I’ve admitted to myself that I’m not attracted to girls. It doesn’t matter if I come out to a few more people and they all support me in a relationship with a boy. I simply cannot date a boy, period. I can’t be that disappointment of a son and that ‘bad’ influence of an older brother. I can’t be that abomination of a church-goer and that sinful friend who has an unnatural attraction to boys. As much as I hate to admit it, I’d rather break only two hearts instead of all the hearts of everyone that knows me.

Fuck. I’m deep. I’m in  _ so _ deep. I can’t get out.

I turn off the water and step out of the shower, grabbing my towel and wiping down my body before drying my hair slightly. The mirror is fogged up with steam and the whole room is warm because of the heat from the light, but I’m still cold. I’m  _ so _ cold.

After I slip on my clothes, I brush my teeth before heading back to my room, dropping my old clothes on the floor and flopping onto my bed for the second time tonight. Fatigue washes over me like a large wave on the beach and suddenly, my eyes are droopy. But just as I’m about to turn off my lamp, my ears catch the sound of light footsteps and my doorknob turning. I’m too tired to look up when the person enters.

“Louis?”

Instantly, my eyes snap open because that voice does not belong to Mum. I flip over, only to come face to face with Lottie’s weary features.

I furrow my eyebrows. “Lottie?”

“Yes, I know I’m Lottie,” she rolls her eyes before sitting herself down in my chair.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” I demand, in a sort of snappy way because I’m exhausted. My eyes shift to my alarm clock, which sits on my bedside table. “It’s 10:30.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Your point?”

“Your bedtime is at what? 8:30?” I grumble, covering my face with my blanket.

“ _ Nine _ ,” she emphasises sharply, giving me a look before continuing, “I have to talk to you.”

“Oh, what now?” I groan before uncovering my face and looking at her. “Do you seriously have to choose the worst times to talk to me?”

“Yes!” she hisses. “You’re never available at other times and you keep running away!”

“What do you mean, _ running away _ ?” I ask in exasperation. “I don’t ‘run away’ from you!”

“Yes, you do!” she argues. “You always have an excuse to get me to leave or someone interrupts us!”

“Oh, sorry. My bad,” I respond sarcastically, eager to get to sleep. “Speaking of which, I’m kind of tired, so I think I’ll just sleep now.”

“No!” she exclaims. “I  _ have _ to talk to you! We never got to finish our conversation from two weeks ago!”

Oh God, I’m too tired for this.

“Well, we can finish it next time,” I say. “I’m too tired to talk.”

“No, you’re not,” she counters stubbornly. “This is just another excuse, isn’t it?”

I don’t reply and she huffs with another roll of her eyes, I presume.

“I knew it,” she mutters. “Anyway, you never told me who your crush is.”

My eyes roll all the way to the back of my head and I groan, trying to make it as audible as possible. Is she kidding me?

“You  _ can’t _ be serious,” I drawl, glaring at her.

“Oh, I’m serious,” she says, her voice full of sass.

“We’re not doing this now,” I tell her.

“Yes, we are.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she argues, pressing her palms together and looking at me with wide eyes. Nope, I’m not going to give in to those puppy dog eyes. Not this time. “ _ Please _ , Lou?”

“No, absolutely not,” I respond, my tone flat.

“It’s Eleanor, isn’t it?” she questions, raising an accusing eyebrow.

“What? No!” I exclaim, probably too forcefully to make it sound believable. Well, at least,  _ I _ know that I’m not lying.

“It  _ so _ is,” she says, crossing her arms and smirking.

“Absolutely not,” I deadpan.

“Pfft, lies,” she snorts. “You look like you just had a heart attack. It’s her.”

I scoff. “I had a heart attack because you just insinuated that I have a crush on Eleanor, which I most definitely do  _ not _ .”

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying!” I reiterate, my hands flying around dramatically as I try to convince her.

“Then, what?” she demands.

I knit my eyebrows together. “What do you mean,  _ what _ ? I don’t have feelings for her.”

“Then, who is it?” she asks.

“Who is what?”

“Your crush!” she exclaims, her voice rising in pitch in her chagrin.

I pause for a second because I have four options. One, I could tell her the truth and confess my feelings for Harry (this option is completely ruled out already). Two, I could tell her a random name to get her off of my back (but then again, she’ll probably end up pressing further if I actually give her an answer). Three, I could just lie to her and tell her that I don’t actually have a crush anymore (that would make me feel guilty, though). Four, I could nicely tell her to fuck off because it’s none of her business.

“Is it someone I know?” she asks, repeating her words from last time, even though I already gave her a slightly affirmative answer last time. It’s probably her strategy to get me to spill. She exhales shortly. “Oh, so it is?”

My eyes snap up. “What? I didn’t say that!”

“Your face said it,” she says. “Who is it?”

I let out a loud breath. “I’m in love with my bed. Now go away so I can spend time with it,” I reply sharply, burrowing my head further into my pillow.

“Louis, you’re  _ so _ annoying,” she whines, jumping up and jabbing her finger into my side.

I yelp at the pain and glare at her. “ _ You’re _ the one who’s begging me to tell you who my crush is and you’re calling  _ me _ annoying?”

“Yes,” she says flatly. “Now, tell me.”

“No, thanks,” I reply, my voice sickeningly sweet but sarcastic at the same time.

She pauses for a moment as she considers my words, her jaw set firmly in a challenge. She presses her lips together before sighing in exasperation.

“Fine,” she huffs, withdrawing her hand and crossing her arms again. “But I  _ will _ find out who it is, okay? I  _ will _ get to the bottom of this.”

I roll my eyes but stay silent and she remains standing there for a few seconds before  _ finally _ deciding to leave me alone. I hear her door close and then I’m out like a light.


	9. We’ll start in the closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis have a heartfelt conversation, and play Hide and Seek at Niall's St. Patrick's Day party

“Lottie, no. I am  _ not _ telling you,” I stress, dropping my head into my hands and groaning.

Yes, that’s right. For the past fifteen minutes, Lottie has been hanging around in my room, pressuring to tell her who my  _ oh-so-secret crush _ is. She’s doing anything to get me to give in - jumping up and down on my bed, throwing random items of clothing at my head, threatening to throw all of my homework into a shredder. She’s nagging me in my ear and at one point, she even dragged Fizzy into it (but luckily, Fizzy had to be whisked away to her dance class by Dad). Lottie’s being an insufferable pain in my arse and quite frankly, I’m pissed off.

“Oh come on!” she exasperates, hopping off of my bed and picking up one of my pens, poking my arm with it. She suddenly stops and goes silent, so I lift up my head to see what she’s doing now. Oh, great. Now she’s staring at me with her blue eyes wide and an imploring expression on her face. She asks me in a sickeningly sweet tone, “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t want to,” I scowl at her, placing my head back into my hands as she starts poking me with the pen again. I raise my voice, “Can you stop?!”

“Not until you tell me,” she responds, her tone slightly cheeky, but irritated all the same. I stay silent as she awaits my answer (which she’s never going to get) and she whines, “Tell me.  _ Tell _ me.”

“Go away, Lottie,” I tell her, ripping the pen from her hand and glaring at her. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

She rolls her eyes and falls back on to my bed, rocking back and forth in displeasure. “Why won’t you tell me?”

I give her a look before shifting my gaze back to the pieces of paper in front of me that are filled with way too many unanswered questions for my liking. Now, linear graphs is probably my least favourite subtopic of maths but talking to Lottie about my crush… well, that’s even worse. Seriously, I could go on and on about how much I despise linear graphing - in fact, I could probably even write a five thousand word essay about it, excluding the bibliography - but discussing this with Lottie will  _ always _ take the highest rank in my list of  _ most annoying things in the world _ (not that I have one).

“Is your crush really  _ that _ embarrassing that you can’t tell me?” she questions, her voice a little softer, with a hint of… second-hand embarrassment…? Ha, funny.

“No,” I reply honestly. “I just don’t want to tell you.”

The truth is, even if I  _ did _ have a socially-acceptable crush on a girl, there’s no way I’d tell Lottie because she would tease me about it and tease me more. She would continuously badger me to confess my feelings to the girl, even though she knows that there’s no way that I would be the first to initiate a conversation. She probably would even have the audacity to go up to the girl and straight-up  _ tell _ her that I have a crush on her. So with that in mind,  _ plus _ the fact that my crush is a  _ boy _ … yeah, I’m not going to be telling her anytime soon.

“You’re  _ so _ lying,” she states, pointing an accusing finger at me. “I know you want to tell me.”

I shake my head with confidence. “I most certainly do not.”

“Yes, you do,” she insists, eyeing me carefully and making me feel a little uncomfortable under her gaze. “I  _ know _ you do.”

Why is she  _ so _ annoying? Why can’t she go back to being an innocent seven-year-old who’s obsessed with fairy tales and doesn’t even know what a crush is? Why, why, why me?

I’m beginning to get extremely agitated with her and her constant pestering, and I feel like if she asks me to tell her who my crush is  _ one _ more time, I will end up snapping and doing something aggressively violent… To clarify, when I say that I’m going to do something aggressively violent, I don’t mean I’m going to hurt her. I mean that I’m probably going to break a pencil or something.

“ _ Louis _ ,” she whines, dragging out my name until I’ve had enough.

“For goodness’ sake, Lottie! I’m  _ not _ telling you!” I exclaim hotly, my hands gripping my hair in aggravation. Is she being blind on purpose? Can she not take the fucking hint that I don’t want to fucking tell her?

She looks a bit taken aback at my outburst but nonetheless, keeps her cool, which irritates me even more. “Why?”

Oh my god. I might start crying if she keeps going.

“Because I said so!” I snap, my face heating up in frustration. “Now, can you please do me a favour and get out of my room?”

“No,” she replies simply, staying adamant on my bed.

I let out a strangled exhale and let my head roll back on my neck, looking up at the ceiling as if it’s going to help me. Fuck you, ceiling, for not lending me a helping hand.

“I’m  _ trying _ to do my homework, okay? So I’d appreciate it if you stopped insisting on distracting me,” I tell her forcefully, without forgetting to shoot her an angry glare.

“What are you going to do about it?” she taunts, snickering. “Tell Mum?”

Now, I’m not usually one for blackmailing but what the fuck else am I supposed to do to get her to stop? There’s literally  _ no _ other way for me to get her to back down.

“Yeah, sure,” I challenge. “And I’ll also tell her about  _ your _ crush.”

Her eyes widen dramatically at that and I smirk triumphantly. Her eyes darken and she says lowly, “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” I threaten slyly.

“You wouldn’t!” she exclaims.

“I would,” I repeat before making a dismissive hand motion. “Now, go away ‘cause I’m busy.”

“You are  _ such _ a killjoy,” she declares, standing up with a huff and storming out of my room, more or less slamming the door behind her. Gosh, she’s  _ so _ stubborn.

With a sigh of relief, I look back down at my homework, wondering why the hell the curriculum makes it compulsory to start off with what seems like year seven level linear equations. When in life am I going to look at a line and have to spout out what the gradient of it is? When in life am I going to look at a line and have to figure out what  _ x _ and  _ y _ equal? When in life is a stranger going to walk up to me on the street and ask me to graph a straight line based off of an equation? I’m not planning on becoming a maths teacher anytime soon so I really don’t see any use in doing this homework.

Plus, I hate graphing anyway. I’m too lazy to find a ruler and use it to draw the axes of a graph. I don’t want to put in the effort into labelling all the increments with equal amounts of spaces between them. I don’t have the time to plot the coordinates and draw a straight line through them. Why do I have to learn about how to turn numbers and letters into a useless drawing of a line when I could be learning about, I don’t know, how to buy myself a house so I can move out as soon as possible?

Now that I think about it, schools should really implement a new subject called  _ how to life 101 _ , which includes everything a person needs to survive in life, like doing taxes, buying a house, setting up a bank account. It should probably include a subtopic called  _ how to talk to a person without being awkward _ , specifically catered for socially-inept people like me. Perhaps, it should also contain a few lessons titled  _ how to go up to a person that you find attractive and ask them out on a date _ , or for myself in particular,  _ how to stop being in love with your best mate who also happens to be straight _ . Now, that’s what I call a practical and incumbent class.

After about ten minutes of finding  _ x _ , I officially get sick of the worksheet and I stuff it back in my maths binder. I think that if I glance at it one more time, I might come down with a cold or something. Linear equations - absolutely repulsive, if you ask me (no offence). I’d rather bury myself naked under a mountain of snow than find more  _ x _ ’s or draw anymore graphs.

I’m laying in my bed and doing nothing when the doorbell rings but I’m not bothered to get up because Mum’s downstairs and she can have the honours of opening the door for the stranger. Anyway, why would I, the laziest person in the history of lazy people, willingly drag my arse down the stairs to open the front door? Now, that just sounds so unreason-

“Louis!” Mum’s voice calls piercingly from downstairs.

Well, scrap what I just said, then. I guess I’m dragging my lazy arse downstairs, albeit not willingly. I groan as I sit up and make myself slightly presentable (this part only involves flattening my hair) before trudging out of my room and down the stairs. I hope whoever’s at the door isn’t expecting me to be all dressed up and well-groomed because I probably look like I’ve just gotten out of bed (which isn’t inaccurate, actually).

“Louis, you could’ve told me that Harry invited you to a youth convention,” Mum says when I arrive at the foot of the stairs.

I look up, only to meet eyes with Harry, who’s standing on my front porch with his hands shoved in his pockets and a shy smile on his lips. My heart skips a beat when I register just how handsome he looks with his dark curls cascading down the sides of his face and his eyes shining a bright green hue. I want to say that he looks especially beautiful today, but I can’t because he looks especially beautiful  _ all _ the time.

My breath hitches as I approach them and I clear my throat, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion. “Well, um, actually, he-”

“It’s my bad, actually,” Harry cuts me off, smiling politely at Mum and of course, his charm manages to entrance her. “I only texted him about it, like, a minute ago so there’s no way he could’ve had time to tell you about it.”

What? Mum narrows her eyes at me, considering it before turning towards Harry. A smile stretches on her face and suddenly, she’s beaming in approval. “That’s quite alright, Harry. Thanks for inviting my son to such a wonderful convention.  _ Godly lifestyles,  _ did you say it was about?”

I look back and forth between her and Harry to see if there’s even a hint of tension between then but it seems like Mum has given him her full trust. I sigh internally because only  _ Harry _ is able to make Mum like him more than she likes me. It’s his charm-manipulation strategy, I swear.

“Precisely,” he says with a cordial nod. “My apologies, again, for not informing him about it earlier.”

Mum waves him off. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she turns to me and asks, “Louis, why don’t you go and get changed into something more presentable before you leave?”

Oh, of course. This again.

“I-”

Harry interrupts me (for the second time!) before I can even barely start talking. “Dressing up would hardly be necessary. I’m fairly certain that they wanted the convention to be quite informal, actually.”

I’m still so befuddled but I don’t try to argue because Harry probably came here for a reason. Mum knits her eyebrows together, it obviously being a foreign concept to her. But she plasters a smile on her face, anyway, because Harry’s just  _ that _ endearing.

“Oh, alright then,” she says, wrapping her arms around me for a hug. “I’ll see you later, honey. Have fun!”

Before I know it, she’s nudging me out the door and closing it behind me, leaving me alone with Harry on the front porch. As soon as she’s gone, Harry takes my wrist and wordlessly leads me towards his car, gesturing for me to get in. Without questioning his actions, I slide into the passenger’s seat as he does the same in the driver’s, starting the engine and starting off down the street.

I decide to speak up when we turn for the first time.

“So,” I begin, turning my head to look at Harry’s side profile, “Any reason as to why you’re kidnapping me?”

He hums softly and turns down the air conditioner, which was a very logical move because my arse was about to freeze. He shrugs and replies vaguely, “I felt like it.”

If he thinks that I would ever be happy with that sort of an answer, then he’d better think again. I lean my head back to rest on the headrest (my head conveniently falls right in the middle, which just proves that my height from the waist up is pretty average). 

“You felt like it?” I question, quirking an eyebrow and he nods. “Well, are you at least going to tell me where you’re taking me? I need to be able to plan my escape.”

He chuckles dryly but shakes his head, anyway. “I’m taking you to a place.”

“You don’t say,” I shoot him a look even though he’s not looking at me. “Are you actually taking me to a youth convention?”

“No,” he responds simply. “I’m taking you to a place that’s not a youth convention.”

I roll my eyes. “Do I have to beg?”

He tilts his head to the side and I can’t help but think that the action is quite adorable. “Well, you certainly can, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m going to tell you.”

Insufferable.

“Okay…” I say slowly. “Then, will you tell me  _ why _ you’re taking me to a  _ place _ ?”

“Because I felt like it,” he replies.

Ah, shit. This must be important or special if he insists on going in circles. But then again, Harry almost never tells me where we’re going if he’s taking me somewhere with just the two of us. He’s so annoying (but incredibly sweet at the same time to be taking (kidnapping) me somewhere in the first place).

“Are you sure you’re not kidnapping me?” I ask hesitantly. He shakes his head silently. “Then, why did you feel the need to lie to my mum?”

“‘Cause that’s the only way she’d let you come for sure, if it’s a church thing, I mean,” he answers and I have to give it to him because that’s true.

“Ah, okay,” I reply, my voice sort of breathy as I turn to gaze out of the window. So far, we’re still in familiar territory so I know how to get home if he’s actually kidnapping me. I turn back to him and try to sound innocent, “Where are we going?”

His face doesn’t falter for a second, as if he already knew that I was going to ask again, and he keeps his eyes straight ahead, on the road. “Somewhere.”

“Will I like it there, do you think?” I press and gosh, I’m beginning to sound a bit like Lottie, aren’t I? Maybe I shouldn’t get so frustrated at her for asking me so many questions when I do the exact same thing to Harry.

“I hope so,” he answers plainly, with the smallest of shrugs. “I quite like it there myself.”

I hum in response and I muse over all the types of places that Harry likes. I know for a fact that he likes any place that involves a scenic view of nature, like a mountain or a forest. He enjoys visiting places where he can admire the greenery and the landscape, as well as the animals, if there happen to be any. He also likes places where there’s music but that doesn’t really narrow anything down. There could be music anywhere - at a concert, in a restaurant, at a shopping centre and even at a church. I’ve decided that I don’t very much appreciate it when Harry’s being cryptic.

“You’re not going to give in, are you?” I ask, scanning his features - his long, thick, dark lashes that kiss his cheeks whenever he blinks; his perfectly-shaped nose that he thinks is big, but it really isn’t; his defined jawline that could probably cut glass; and his plump lips that I sort of want to place my own lips on. If the definition of  _ perfect _ could allude to a person, that person would be Harry.

“I’m not,” he says with a slight shake of his head, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a small smile. “We’re just about there, anyway.”

I raise my eyebrows on my forehead. “Really? We’ve only been out for five minutes.”

“Well, I took a shortcut,” he says, rotating the steering wheel as the car veers right.

He enters a sort of scenic avenue where the trees’ branches hold leaves of all different colours - green, yellow, orange, red and there are even some dead, brown leaves that are on the verge of falling off. Leaves are piled in mounds on almost every single front lawn, creating the effect that it’s Autumn… which it’s not. I have to admit that though I usually don’t have much appreciation for nature, it’s a pretty picturesque street.

But what I don’t expect is that when he makes another right, he pulls up straight into the car park of a beach. To my relief, I can’t see a single person on the sand and it looks like the tide isn’t very strong, so I won’t have to worry about drowning if he’s planning on dragging me into the water (which I hope he isn’t because I’m literally wearing sweatpants). Even so, sweatpants are not a very appropriate attire to be going to a beach in.

“We’re here,” he states as he pulls the break and turns off the engine.

I’m still quite surprised at where we ended up but I scramble to get out of the car anyway because I’m eager to get on with whatever Harry’s planning. Before I close the car door, I decide to take off my shoes because I’m not looking forward to walking around in uncomfortable, sand-filled sneakers, and I don’t want to carry them around either. After that, I wait for Harry to come around and lead me to wherever we’re going.

“You took off your shoes,” he deadpans, his eyes falling to my bare feet and it’s at that moment that the wind chooses to blow, causing chills to run through my feet.

“I did,” I respond, looking up at him. “We’re walking on the sand, right?”

He tilts his head in thought before nodding and moving to remove his own shoes. “Yeah, that’s a pretty good idea actually.”

He tosses his shoes into the back seat before walking towards the beach and soon enough, I fall into step with him. There’s a slight skip in my step, partially because Harry’s legs are abnormally long, which makes his strides further, but I’m also patiently waiting for him to tell me why we’re here. Why did Harry Styles decide that today would be an appropriate day to whisk me out of my house and drive me to a beach while also feeling the need to lie to my mother in the process? I wonder.

The sand is soft under my feet, sun-kissed and warm. The grains find their way between my toes but it doesn’t annoy me because I kind of treat it like a foot massage. There are not many visible footsteps in the sand around us, which means that either this is a very lonely beach or that the wind has simply flattened the sand recently. Either way, it’s quite refreshing to walk along the beach in solitude, with no crowds of strangers around to make noise and ultimately be distractions. 

Without uttering a word to me, Harry leads me all the way up to the water and I’m forced to roll up the bottoms of my sweatpants so I can step in ankle-deep (I kind of look like a chicken). The water is mildly cold as it swishes around my feet - cold enough for goosebumps to rise on my skin but not cold enough for me to jump out in fear of getting frostbite. It’s relatively calm, too, the water is, and it’s quite a nice view when I’m looking out towards the horizon. I can see why Harry likes it here.

Next to me, he’s standing still, ankle-deep like me as he stares out at the water. His skin is slightly illuminated by the sun and his eyes reflect the blue water. I kind of miss the green in his eyes, I decide. But his face looks like the picture of serenity and it’s then that I come to the conclusion that it’s about time for me to know why he wanted to take me here.

“So…” I begin, “are you planning on telling me why we’re here?”

He turns to look at me with an amused closed-mouth smile, almost as if he’s actually enjoying keeping me in the dark. The bastard.

“Am I not allowed to spend some time with my best mate?” he asks, his head tipped over slightly.

Oh, I see how it is, Styles. I know this game very well. In fact, I’m  _ extremely _ familiar with it.

“Oh, please,” I give him a look. “If that’s the case, you wouldn’t have so desperately tried to hide it from me in the car.”

He rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t being  _ desperate _ . I was simply trying to surprise you but  _ obviously _ , you don’t appreciate it very much.”

“Hey! Don’t pin this on me!” I exclaim, holding up my hands in defence. “I’m just looking for answers and  _ you’re _ the one who’s being difficult.”

He scoffs like he’s taken offence, even though I know he hasn’t. “‘Scuse you. I was trying to be genuine.”

“Right, right,” I turn away from him with an eye roll. “Because it’s  _ so _ normal of you to suddenly appear at my house and take me to a beach without telling me beforehand.”

He rubs the back of his neck and shoots me a sheepish grin which has just as much nervousness behind it as it reads  _ lies, lies, lies _ . “I’ve just recently, uh, created a new day’s resolution to become more spontaneous.”

I raise an eyebrow. “A  _ new day’s resolution _ , huh?”

“Yeah, a new day’s resolution,” he repeats. “And it’s also ‘cause my calendar, um, ran out.”

I turn to stare at him with my eyebrows knit in incredulity. “Your calendar ran out of what?”

“Days,” he elaborates shortly.

My shoulders slump in disbelief and I shoot him a look. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“I am!” he exclaims.

“Haz, the year literally started almost three months ago,” I tell him. “How the hell did you run out of  _ days _ ?”

He rubs his hands together. “It’s one of those calendars that has a year plus two months.”

This kid…

“But we’re in the middle of March!” I emphasise, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “How did you run out of days  _ in the middle of March _ ?!”

“I ran out at the end of February, okay, but I didn’t think to create my new day’s resolution until today!” he defends himself, his voice sounding nowhere as convincing as he probably intended it to.

“ _ Sure _ ,” I state flatly, crossing my arms over my chest, not ready to give up until he tells me. I need  _ answers _ . “So, are you planning on telling me why we’re here?”

He sighs dramatically and starts, “I literally  _ just _ told you but I can repeat it if you’d like,” he tells me, saying each word slower and more pronounced like I’m fucking three years old. “Today, I created a new day’s resolution to be more spon-”

I roll my eyes and cut him off. “Oh, cut the crap, will you and tell me the  _ real _ reason!”

He scrunches up his nose but I don’t miss his face blanking slightly. “Gosh, Lou. Why are you so  _ desperate _ ?”

This wanker.

“‘Cause you’re being a pain in my arse, that’s why,” I deadpan. “And,” I pause, turning and jabbing an accusing finger at his chest, “You. Are. Stalling.”

He smirks, slowly dragging his feet through the water as he attempts to walk past me. “True. I’m waiting for you to stop being so desperate to get an answer out of me.”

“No!” I exclaim, placing my hands on his upper chest to stop him from escaping, which I probably shouldn’t have done because electricity shoots from my fingers, all the way up my arms, causing me to shiver. I hastily move my hands back so they’re hanging by my sides and compose myself, feigning a stern look. “I’m not letting you move until you answer my question.”

After a moment of glancing around wildly, he finally meets my eyes, albeit begrudgingly and not without a reluctant groan. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed in irritation and disinclination, forming the wrinkle between them that I usually don’t like to see. As soon as he looks at me, I almost gasp at how quickly his eyes dilate, creating the illusion that his eyes are actually black. But I will myself not to because that would just be awkward.

We stand there, blue bearing into green for a few seconds, my mouth running dry as he scrutinises me and I desperately hope that I haven’t done something stupid like gotten sand all over my face. I don’t know what he’s looking for, as he gazes at me, but his eyes twitch slightly like he’s scanning my features. I can only hope that he won’t continue stalling for a long time because otherwise, my neck will start straining from how long I have to look up for (sometimes being short, I mean, having an  _ average _ height is annoying when you constantly have to look up at your friend who just so happens to be abnormally tall).

I don’t know what it is but there’s something in Harry’s face that manages to soothe me whenever my dopamine level rises higher than normal. Just one glimpse at him is all it takes for me to calm my nerves so right now, I don’t feel as ‘desperate’ to grill him for answers. I don’t know whether it’s his eyes or his nose or his cheeks or his mouth but there’s just something that makes me still… I can’t quite put my finger on it. Although, maybe it’s just his presence and tranquilising aura that manages to pacify me.

Why is he still staring at me?

I open my mouth to speak and hope that the words don’t come tumbling out like a mess of anxiety and nerves. “So, are you going to tell me?”

My voice is soft as I ask him the question and it’s obvious that the atmosphere around us completely flips around into the sort of mood when we begin to go in deep with our conversation. It’s the kind of air that hangs around when we’re discussing our dreams and our nightmares, the social issues we want to fix, and our deepest and darkest secrets. It’s the aura that surrounds us when one of us eventually ends up admitting something about ourself that reduces both of us to tears.

Harry’s face reflects contemplation, almost as if he’s trying to decide whether to tell me what’s going on or not. Ha, I knew he was hiding something… but what? He opens his mouth to speak before closing it and gulping, a flicker of worry flashing in his eyes. He removes eyes from me and they fall to the ground.

“I have to tell you something,” he mumbles, more or less incoherently like he doesn’t even want me to be able to decipher what he’s saying. But I want to know. I  _ need _ to know.

I feel my heartbeat pick up in my chest, beating out of it like it’s trying to escape. The hairs at the back of my neck stand up as I’m overcome by a wave of inquisitive eustress and anticipation (pun intended).

“Yeah?” I press, my tone rising a bit too high in eagerness for my liking. Okay, tone it down, Louis. No need to be so excited. “What is it?”

He continues to refuse to meet my eyes but his height allows me to see the diaphanous consternation within his dark eyes. He’s anxious and the tingles in my hands want me to reach out for him to solace him but that might be too forward. I don’t need to scare him off.

“Um, I think…” he trails off, reaching up to rub the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. He looks up, finally gazing into my eyes as he continues, “I think I might be pansexual.”

He almost whispers the last few words, his voice low and secretive like he’s revealing the innermost part of himself (which he is), but it still hits me like two tonnes of bricks. What the fuck? I was  _ not _ expecting that. I thought… I thought he was straight  _ for sure _ . The words  _ I’m straight _ literally came out of his mouth just a few weeks ago.

At first, my face mirrors surprise but I quickly wipe the expression off my face because I wouldn’t be a good, supportive friend if I just stayed frozen in a state of shock. But the feeling of pride comes along not much later, swelling in my chest and forming an involuntary smile on my face. I’ve had first-hand experience with all this coming out business and I have full knowledge of how difficult it is to do. He’s done it. I’ve done it. We’ve both done it. I’m  _ so _ proud.

“H, that’s great,” I tell him quietly, the smile visible on my face but also clearly evident in my voice. I look at him with my eyes wide and earnest. “I’m beyond proud of you.”

He looks quite benumbed by my words but eventually, his face splits into a grin and he’s beaming at me with his eyes shining brightly. He looks absolutely beautiful, especially in this light.

“Really?” he questions in slight disbelief, his voice breathy.

I nod profusely, my cheeks beginning to ache from how wide I’m smiling. “Yes! I-I can’t even explain how proud I am!”

I reach up to squeeze his cheeks but he bats my hands away with a shriek, jumping backwards and splashes some water in the process. He laughs and kicks some water at me, causing me to yelp as the cold of it burns my skin. It’s amazing how quickly the mood shifts back to normal.

He waddles back towards me. “You have  _ no _ idea how nervous I was for that.”

Um… haha, you think? I was literally drowning in an ocean of nerves so I created a whole-ass story about some crush I had and played my whole coming out off as a prank! You think  _ I _ haven’t seen the face of nervousness? Well, think again!

Although, I suppose I shouldn’t compare my coming out to Harry’s because it’s not like I can actually measure how nervous he was for it, anyway.

I snort. “Well, you certainly did it better than me.”

He tilts his head to the side in consideration before pressing his lips together in a tight smile and nodding. “That’s true.”

I swat his arm with a chuckle before my face drops and all of a sudden, I’m confused. Just a minute ago, I was certain that he was straight? I mean, he even  _ told _ me to my face that he was straight.  _ Surely _ , no one comes to terms with their sexuality within the span of just a few weeks! I, for one, probably took a year or two or five. Perhaps, he was in denial?

“I can’t say I’m not surprised, though,” I tell him, my tone more serious now. I glance at him thoughtfully. “‘Cause you said that you were straight when I came out.”

He grimaces and looks at me sheepishly, almost as if he feels guilty (he completely resembles the grimacing emoji).

“Yeah, about that…” he pauses, clearing his throat. “It’s kind of been at the back of my mind for a long time but I didn’t want to believe it so I sort of just, you know, pushed it away. And then a few days after you came out, I thought about it more and kind of accepted it almost…?” his voice rises slightly at the end like he’s questioning himself. “And because I then knew where you stood with sexuality and all that, I thought it would be, you know,  _ safe _ to tell you.”

I nod slowly in understanding. He thought it would be  _ safe _ to tell me? Interesting.

“Well, I’m glad you told me,” I tell him honestly with a small smile. “Just, um,” I break off hesitantly and he looks at me curiously, “I don’t mean to pry but how did you, like,  _ realise _ that you’re, you know… pan?”

I carefully observe his reaction as he suddenly looks more reserved, as if he’s really diffident to telling me. His face goes lax and he bites his bottom lip, like he’s one second away from blurting out something that he’ll regret.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I add hastily and even though I’ve just created that escape route for him, I still want to know. As a matter of fact, I  _ really _ want to know… So I hint at it, “I’m just a little curious; that’s all.”

He laughs lightly but it’s the most unconvincing laugh that I’ve ever heard in my life.

“No, I want to tell you,” he says, each word unhurried and calculated. He sighs before leaning closer to me and staring piercingly into my eyes. “I… well, I fell in love.”

My eyes widen to maybe twice their original size and my mind goes completely numb. But it’s not because of the cold, no, it’s not… just…  _ what _ ? Though my brain is essentially frozen, millions of thoughts continue to whizz around like a hurricane. I’m  _ so _ confused…  _ Why _ didn’t he tell me that he liked someone before? And-and with  _ whom  _ did he fall in love with?

“You what?” I question, completely perplexed at this point.

“I fell in love,” he repeats shortly.

My eyes are still as wide as saucepans and the dusty wind is beginning to irritate them but I can’t focus on that right now.

I splutter, “W-With a guy?”

He nods slowly, his eyes wandering to whatever scenery there is behind me. His expression suddenly turns pensive as he gazes slightly upwards.

“Yeah,” he muses thoughtfully. “And I realised that I would still be in love with him no matter if he was a girl or a guy, if he was non-binary or if he didn’t identify as anything.”

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. “Um, okay…”

He continues, his tone sounding slightly hopeful. “And when you came out, I realised that perhaps, I could potentially, possibly, maybe have a chance with him if he, you know, felt the same…”

My mouth is fully dry as I croak out my next question, “Well, are you going to t-tell him…?”

He shifts his eyes back to me but their expression doesn’t agree with his mouth as he gives me a small smile. “I already did.”

Before I even have a chance to respond, he’s placing a hand behind my head and leaning forwards, pressing his lips to mine and capturing them in a desire-filled kiss. If it’s possible, my eyes widen even more as a spark of electricity bursts through my entire body. His lips are soft…  _ so _ soft, and they taste exactly like the vanilla lip balm that he always wears, especially in winter. I like the feeling of his lips on mine and I could probably deal with this becoming a frequent occurrence… but, I can’t.

I can’t bring my body to respond to the hunger that he’s expressing through the kiss even though I really want to. God, I want it  _ so _ bad that I can’t even put it into words how much I want it, but I can’t. All I can think about is my parents and… oh my god, my parents. My parents, my sisters, my church, my friends… they can’t know about this. I can’t be kissing a boy; this is probably the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life! I can’t… I simply cannot be kissing a boy. Fuck, what if they find out? Panic, panic. Sirens are ringing in my ears and oh my god, I’m so screwed. No, no, no, this can’t be happening right now! Why is he still kissing me?! Oh my god.

I wrench myself away from Harry and stare at him wide-eyed as he mirrors my expression, his lips bruising slightly. His mouth is ajar in shock before he closes it and scrunches up his eyes, sighing in defeat as he realises what’s wrong.

“Louis…” he begins, opening his eyes again and advancing towards me but I scurry backwards on instinct, nearly tripping over my feet and landing in the water on my arse.

“N-No, Harry,” I whimper as I continue to edge away from him.

He stops walking towards me, leaving a safe distance between us and just stares at me with his eyes full of sadness and dejection. No. I want him to be happy. He just came out to me and I’m so proud of him. Why isn’t he smiling? W-Why is he looking at me like that?

“Lou, please…” he pleads, his voice weak as he gazes at me in despair.

No, no, no, I can’t. We can’t. This can’t happen.

I shake my head frantically and take another step back, making the distance between us wider still. “Harry… w-we can’t… we can’t do this.”

“Yes, we can!” he insists, his voice raw but full of emotion and need.

I shake my head again. “No, we can’t… you  _ know _ we can’t.

He exhales loudly, his shoulders slumping and his face full of rejection. No, I don’t want him to be sad. I want him to be happy. I need him to be happy.

“Why?” he demands.

What does he mean,  _ why _ ? He damn well knows why; I’ve explained it to him before. Why doesn’t he understand that he and I… we won’t work out. I-I can’t kiss a boy. I can’t date a boy. I can’t be in  _ love _ with a boy. He deserves  _ so _ much better than a person who has to keep him a secret. He should have fallen in love with someone that can show him off because that’s only fitting for someone like Harry. Why me, out of all people? Why did he have to fall in love with  _ me _ ?

“B-Because we can’t!” I blurt out in exasperation. “We can’t, Harry. I-I can’t be with you… I can’t be in  _ love _ with a boy. M-My parents… they can’t find out about this. They’d skin me alive and feed me to the sharks! You and I, we wouldn’t work out. You deserve someone who’ll proudly take you out in public - someone who’ll unabashedly show you off to all of their friends and to their… family. You deserve someone that will-”

“But I don’t want that person!” he interjects, cutting me short. I close my mouth and swallow as he lowers his voice until he’s almost whispering, “I want you.” My eyes widen but I stay frozen on the spot as he steadily moves towards me, not breaking eye contact even once. “I don’t care if you’re not ready to go to a pride parade, tattoo  _ Louis’ _ on my forehead and send a photo of us kissing to your parents. It can be ours… our relationship and no one else even has to know about it because it’s none of their business.”

I really want to say  _ yes _ . Every inch of me wants to say  _ yes _ including my heart and my brain and my skin and my lips. But I can’t. There are  _ so _ many reasons why we can’t. Can’t he see that?

I sigh, “Harry, I-”

“I promise we don’t have to tell anyone,” he continues. “We can just be us - two boys in love. We don’t have to tell our parents or our friends. Just, please… give me a chance…?”

Yes, yes, yes. I want it so much. Yes, I’ll give you a chance and we can live happily ever after and ride off into the sunset like a fairytale-

“Harry, I can’t…” I say, my voice cracking slightly as my heart throbs in my chest. It hurts so much. Someone make it stop. Stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. “Look, we should just forget about all of this and pretend it never happened. We can go back to school and we’ll just be best mates like normal.”

The words feel like throw up as they escape from my lips and ugh, my throat hurts. I’m disgusted that my mouth was even able to say those things.

Harry looks hurt… no, he looks  _ broken _ . His eyes are shiny and I can make out the tears threatening to escape from his waterline. No, I don’t want him to cry. I want him to go off and be happy with someone else. Someone who’s not… me.

“But you want it to,” he says, his voice quiet but still sharp and distinct amongst the sound of the water. “I know you do.”

He steps closer towards me and I’m paralysed as he leans his forehead on mine and stares straight into my eyes. He gently grabs both of my hands and lightly rubs his thumbs over my knuckles, causing my breath to catch in my throat at the touch. I stop myself from shivering at the tingles. Ugh, the tingles. I might as well die right here in his arms.

But, no. I can’t.

“Harry…” I breathe, my voice wasting away as the wind carries it into the water. I close my eyes and steady my breathing, hoping that the tears won’t escape from under my eyelids. Why do I feel like this? Why am I getting light-headed? Why does my chest hurt so much?

“Do you want it?” he whispers, the soft zephyr of his breath sending chills down my spine.

God,  _ yes _ . I want it so much.

I remove my hands from Harry’s grip and take a step back, shaking my head and willing myself not to cry. I can’t bear to look at his face as I continue walking away because I don’t want to see how broken he looks. And it’s all my fault. It’s all my fucking fault and I wish I could fix it. I really do… but I can’t.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

***

I don’t know how long I’ve been running for when I turn into a familiar street, but it seems like it’s been forever. My legs are aching, my chest is tight and I’m barely managing to respire. My breaths are coming out like sporadic, desultory gasps for air and it certainly doesn’t help that I’m crying at the same time. The tears are clouding my eyes and streaming down my face like waterfalls but I furiously try to blink them away to clear my vision. My nose is a combination of blocked and runny and I have to constantly rub it to stop it from dripping.

I ignore the stares from the people I pass on the path as they wonder why on earth a teenage boy is going for a run with bare feet, but they only see the mess that is my face when they come up close. I’m too quick for them to stop me and question me. The ground is hard beneath my feet as I run, with random bits of sticking-out rocks poking at my soles. I’m almost there. Just a few more houses down.

I finally arrive at the front porch, panting and resting my hands on my knees for a few seconds so I can regain my breath. I swipe at my eyes and dry my cheeks with my sleeves before closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. I let out a shaky breath as I lift up my hand to knock on the fibreglass door three times. I step backwards and wipe another escaping tear as I wait for the door to be answered.

“Coming!” a familiar Bradford accent calls from inside the house and I hear footsteps increasing in volume. My ears catch the sound of a key turning in the lock and the noise of the doorknob twisting as the door creaks open. Zayn’s head pops out and his eyebrows knit together as he lays his eyes on me. “Louis?”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

I force a blatantly fake smile onto my face and greet him, my voice fragile and on the verge of cracking with each word, “Hey, Zayn.”

He opens his door wider, gesturing with his head for me to enter and it’s only then that I realise that he has a small bowl of almonds in his left hand. Wordlessly, I step into his house, wiping my feet on the welcome mat and looking to Zayn for further instruction, my eyes wide. He leads me towards his living room and I plop down on the couch as he sits in a rocking chair opposite me. If I was in the mood, I’d be teasing him for being such an old man. But I’m not in the mood, so I don’t.

“So, what happened?” he asks straight away, not bothering to start off with small talk first.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

I breathe in unsteadily and fiddle with my sleeves as I refuse to meet his eyes, wondering why on earth I practically brought an interrogation upon myself.

“Harry…” I begin, swallowing hard at the salty taste of blood in my mouth. “H-He told me that he’s in love with me.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. No, stop crying!

I look up to see his reaction but all I’m met with is a blank expression. He gives me a look that reads  _ no duh _ , like I should’ve seen it coming. Did  _ he _ see it coming? I swipe at my eyes again and Zayn frowns at that.

“Isn’t that a good thing, though?” he inquires, his forehead creased in confusion.

My eyes widen incredulously and I shake my head furiously. “No, of course, not! Why would it be a  _ good _ thing?”

“Aren’t you in love with him too?” he asks.

I exhale frustratedly and cross my arms, leaning back on the couch. “Yes.”

“Then why is it bad?”

I huff and throw up my arms in exasperation. “Because, Zayn, he  _ shouldn’t _ be in love with me! He  _ can’t _ be!”

Stop fucking crying!

My words come out choked and the all-too-familiar aching in my chest, that hasn’t ceased for the past hour or so, only becomes more intense. I wonder if my heart isn’t physically getting enough blood because mentally, I’ve just about run out.

Zayn sighs. “Louis, if this is about your parents…”

“And everyone else!” I add.

“Why are you letting them stop you from being with him?” he demands, his voice somehow managing to be stern and soft at the same time. “If you’re in love with him and he’s in love with you, then you should go for it.”

I shake my head, my voice growing softer. “It’s not that easy.”

“But it is!” he stresses.

“It’s not,” I continue shaking my head as I grip my hair and slightly pull at it in distress. “I can’t be in love with a boy. I shouldn’t. I can’t date Harry. I-I, I can’t… I can’t break my family’s hearts like that…”

Zayn shakes his head in disagreement and I almost can’t stand to watch the displeasure grow on his face. “Why do you give a shit what your family thinks? It’s  _ your _ love, not theirs. They shouldn’t be able to control who you fall in love with. In fact, they  _ can’t _ .”

“Tell them that, then,” I spit, my tone bitter and I immediately regret being so harsh. I bite my tongue in retribution. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I just… they don’t believe in falling in love.”

“Their fucking loss, then,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes before looking at me, eyes filled with nothing other than sincerity. “They shouldn’t be able to control you, anyway, unless they’re planning on putting you through an arranged marriage for cultural reasons, which I don’t think they are.”

“No, they’re not,” I say, dropping my head into my hands in misery. “But I-I don’t know what to do, Zayn… I shouldn’t have fallen in love with Harry, out of  _ all _ people! I should’ve fallen in love with a  _ girl _ who doesn’t also just happen to be my best mate!"

“Hey, it’s okay, you know, to fall in love with your best mate,” Zayn reassures me, his voice calm and comforting, but it doesn’t do it for me. He carries on, “If it helps, I think that you two are a match made in heaven. I’ve seen the way Harry looks at you and I’ve seen the way you look at him. You two  _ need _ each other, like, it’s never  _ just _ Harry or  _ just _ Louis - you come in a packaged deal. You compliment each other so well and you just  _ fit _ together like two puzzle pieces… You don’t find that all the time; what you have is something special.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Zayn, stop making me cry!

I feel the tears spill out of my eyes and I wipe them away with my sleeve, my breathing becoming more staggered as I comprehend his words. He’s right. He’s  _ so _ right and he knows that I know it. 

I sigh as I struggle to string together a coherent sentence in my mind. “Zayn… I-I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!” he insists, looking like he’s about to spring out of his rocking chair and pounce on me at any second. “Who cares if your parents or your church friends or your relatives don’t approve of it  _ just _ because of Harry’s gender?! It’s  _ love _ , for god’s sake! They can’t dictate who you love!”

I shake my head, tears springing to my eyes again. “It doesn’t matter, Zayn. It doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything about it. I can’t… I can’t, I-I, it doesn’t matter. I can’t…”

My words become all jumbled in my mouth and I can’t even fucking talk properly as my vision becomes clouded once again. I’m  _ such _ a mess and I can barely make out Zayn’s figure anymore as he stands up and moves towards me. The couch shifts when he sits next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders while simultaneously rubbing my back with assuaging circular motions. Before I know it, I’m leaning my head on his shoulder and sobbing into his neck.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mutters softly as my body shakes while I struggle to breathe. “We’ll figure out how to make this all better, okay?”

“O-Okay,” I stammer, my voice sounding awfully nasally as I choke out the words.

We sit there in silence (apart from the sounds of my strangled breaths) for a moment before Zayn starts talking soothingly.

“You know, it kind of amazes me, your bond with Harry,” he tells me thoughtfully but I don’t reply, only listening intently without speaking. “It amazes me how well you two work together and get along, and I swear, I’ve literally  _ never _ seen you argue before. At some points, I was even convinced that you were secretly dating but then you weren’t and I was pretty sad,” he says with a small laugh and I smile slightly. “You really have something special with him, you know, and honestly, it’s something that I wish for in life,” he admits quietly.

I pat his leg softly and whisper, “You’ll get it. Don’t worry.”

He sighs. “I really wish you’d just go for it, you know? I mean, I know that there are so many things for you to worry about but realistically, if you leave Harry hanging for so long, he’s eventually going to give up and move on. You should take it while you can ‘cause neither of you are going to be happy if you don’t.”

I look up at him as my tears begin to subside and my breathing becomes regular again. “You think?”

“I know,” he replies.

***

I don’t call or text Harry for the next couple of days because I’m still stuck in my head, contemplating whether I should or shouldn’t go for it. I know that it’s petty of me to leave him hanging like this but I don’t know what to say to him. I can’t just start off a new text conversation like,  _ hey bro, let’s meet at the beach and get it on in five _ and expect him to be alright with it! I fucking  _ left _ him alone at a fucking beach (oh, and he still has my favourite shoes with him). Gosh, I really hope that he’s not mad at me  _ again _ .

Lottie’s barged into my room a couple of times, demanding that I tell her who my crush is and because of how unexpected her… visits are, I’ve desperately tried to keep my crying at a minimum. In payback for her constant, annoying-as-hell pestering, I should probably steal some of her concealer to cover up my red eyes after I sob in the shower for twenty minutes. Then, I wouldn’t have to keep my head down for the entirety of dinner and risk my parents asking me why I’m not socialising enough.

I’ve had quite a bit of time to think it over and I think Zayn’s efforts to convince me actually worked. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m in love with Harry and if he’s in love with me, why shouldn’t I go for it? Like he said, we don’t have to have a public relationship because it’s  _ our _ relationship and no one else’s. As long as my parents, my sisters, my other relatives and my friends (especially Nick) don’t find out, we should be alright. I just hope that Harry’s not too mad at me, after the episode on the beach, to give me a second chance.

The next time I see Harry is at Niall’s annual St Patrick’s Day party… well, ‘party’. I wouldn’t classify it as a party, really, because it’s basically just another lad hangout with the addition of a lot of green, heaps of clover decorations and Niall forcing us to wear shamrock hats (Niall literally looks like a  _ fucking _ leprechaun. I can’t get over it). Because his parents are out at a conference, Niall somehow managed to smuggle a few packs of beer into his house for us.

To my surprise, there’s not a lot of tension in the room per se, even though Harry and I don’t speak to each other at all. We sit on opposite ends of the couch, for a change, when Niall goes through his slideshow and explains to us about how Saint Patrick used three-leaf clovers to describe the Holy Trinity to Irish pagans. But no one really questions how far apart we are (physically and emotionally), again, because the tension is almost non-existent. Mostly, I catch Harry staring at me, his eyes longing and sad, and I can’t help but stare back at him, unable to put into words how I’m feeling at the moment. I want him  _ so _ bad and I hope that he can see that through the way I look at him.

But it all changes when Niall suddenly wants to play hide and seek.

“Niall, you’re literally a five-year-old,” Liam tells the blond lad, his voice flat but not lacking a hint of amusement.

“Well, at least I’m not a  _ ninety-year-old _ ,” Niall retorts crossly, glaring at Liam for interrupting him as he tries to sort out the logistics of the game. He clears his throat. “Anyway, as I was saying before I was so  _ rudely _ interrupted by Saint Liam, the only places that you can’t hide are in the roof, in me parents’ room and in the washing machine-”

“Niall-”

“ _ Saint _ Niall,” Niall interrupts.

“Sorry,” Nick corrects himself with an eye roll. “ _ Saint _ Niall, no one’s going to hide in the washing machine so can we get on with the game already?”

“Alright, alright. Geez, mate,” Niall says, taking a swig of his beer and gulping it down. “Who wants to be the seeker? Saint Harry?”

Everyone turns to Harry, who shakes his head. “Nah, I think I’m good with hiding.”

“Saint Louis?”

I internally roll my eyes at the name but nod my head in Harry’s direction. “What he said.”

“Saint Nicholas?”

Nick groans. “For the last time, Saint Niall, I  _ refuse _ to be associated with Santa!”

“I’m asking you a question, Saint Nicholas,” Niall says like a teacher, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently.

“No!” Nick exclaims in exasperation.

“Very well,” Niall says before turning to Zayn. “Saint Zayn?”

“I don’t mind,” the dark-haired boy shrugs.

But even though his words are directed at Niall, he stares at me penetratingly, like he’s trying to tell me something. Once he knows that he’s got my attention, his eyes briefly shift towards Harry before directing back to me. I knit my eyebrows together. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I tilt my head to the side as he opens his mouth as if he’s going to speak but he only mouths,  _ closet _ , at me. What? He wants me to go to one of the closets? Why’s he telling me where to go when he’s the seeker? Gosh, what a cheater!

He looks back at Harry again and a wave of realisation washes over me. Oh, of course. He’s trying to give me time to make up with Harry. Well, I guess it could be possible… or I could end up waiting in Niall’s disgusting closet for the next half an hour.

Niall claps his hands and I nod quickly in understanding at Zayn before averting my attention back to the host. “Alright, Saint Zayn it is! Shall we begin?”

Zayn nods and makes a big show of covering his eyes. “Ten-”

“For goodness’ sake, Saint Zayn, I’ve just drunk about ten bottles of beer and you’re only giving me  _ ten _ seconds to hide?” Niall interjects, shaking his head in disappointment. “Cut me some slack. Come on…”

“Sorry!” Zayn apologises hastily without removing his hands from over his eyes. He clears his throat and starts again, “One thousand-”

“Saint Zayn!” Niall exclaims.

“Fine, sheesh! Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-seven…”

“Mate, can you literally  _ not _ count?” Liam calls from a distance as he exits the living room in search of a place to hide.

Zayn continues to ‘count’, ignoring Liam and I hurry away from him, finding my way towards the bathroom. I scan around the place, wondering if it behind the shower curtain and inside the bathtub would be a good place to hide. Nah, that’d be too obvious. I bend down to open one of the cupboards below the sink in case there’s any free space for me to squish myself inside, only to find that the drain pipe takes up most of the space. What a terrible bathroom for hide and seek. Absolutely disgraceful.

I backtrack out of the bathroom and head into Niall’s bedroom as Zayn drawls out an elongated  _ fifteen _ . There is just enough sunlight coming in from around the border of Niall’s curtain for me to see and I nearly have a choking fit at how much of a pigs’ sty his room is. And I thought  _ my _ room was messy! Patting my throat a few times, I step inside and narrowly avoid stepping on a packet of instant noodles (Niall would have my head if I actually did step on it, even if it was by accident). I carefully make my way to the opposite side of the room, where his fancy walk-in-robe is and discreetly slide open the door. When I’ve created a reasonable gap, I slip inside and slide the door back, turning around so I can’t start my search for a comfortable hiding place.

Shit. It’s dark.

As soon as I take a step, I nearly trip over what seems to be a pair of Niall’s underwear and I wrinkle my nose, shaking it off of my foot, utterly repulsed. I lean forwards and crouch down, reaching out my arms to feel around for a place to squeeze myself into.  _ Ew _ , oh my god, this is so gross. Niall, what the fuck even is your closet? Aha! Bingo! I waddle forwards and turn around, lowering myself carefully into the corner of the closet, hidden behind one of the shelves. I swear I must’ve ended up sitting on a biscuit or something because there’s an audible crunching sound when my arse touches the ground. Remember, it’s a  _ granite _ headstone for me if I don’t make it out of here alive.

I pull my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around my calves as Zayn yells out a  _ three _ . Gosh, he’s  _ such _ a slow counter. If I were him, I’d be going around looking for everyone  _ while _ counting. But before I manage to hear Zayn say  _ one _ , my eyes flick upwards as the closet door begins to slide open. My eyes roll to the back of my head when I see the silhouette of the person and I realise that Zayn’s plan actually worked. I don’t know if I should be happy that I finally have a chance to talk to him alone or anxious that I actually have to talk to him. 

My hiding place must be a very good one because Harry doesn’t see me when he slips inside and closes the door behind him, much like I did. Though it’s almost pitch black, I manage to keep my eyes on his figure as he slowly shuffles around the closet, searching for a place to hide.

“Shit, argh,” he hisses as he steps on something and I can’t help but let out a soft laugh at that. My eyes widen and I hastily cover my mouth as his head snaps up in my direction.

Alright, I suppose if I’ve already revealed myself, there’s no use in trying to pretend that I’m not here. I whisper, “Plenty of other hiding spots in this house, mate.”

He pauses for a second as if he’s trying to figure out whose voice it is. Come  _ on _ , mate. You should know by now! “Louis?”

“Harry,” I reply dryly. “Fancy bumping into you here.”

He bends down towards me as if he’s trying to look for me but I can’t see his facial expression because of how dark it is. He asks, “Where are you?”

“Down here,” I tell him, reaching up to lightly tap on his outstretched arm. He follows my touch and turns around, lowering himself and squeezing beside me in  _ my _ hiding spot (yes, I claim it because I was here first). It’s a wonder how we’re both managing to fit in here without it being severely uncomfortable.

But then it goes silent and it’s uncomfortable.

I clear my throat and start awkwardly, “So, um, why did you choose the closet, out of all places?”

I feel him shrug against my arm. “I dunno… seemed like a pretty good hiding spot. Niall’s room is a bomb site, though.”

I can practically taste the disgust dripping from his tongue and oh, that reminds me of how much I want to taste him again. Crap, I’m so out of it.

“I bet the last time he cleaned it was before he moved in,” I joke, rolling my eyes.

He chuckles lightly. “I don’t think he even speaks the language of  _ cleaning _ .”

I feel a small smile grow on my face but it’s too dark for Harry to see. “Yeah.”

We stay in silence for a good half-minute before I flinch at the sounds of Niall screaming his head off from the other side of the house. So… I’m assuming that Zayn found him. Come to think of it, Niall probably ended up tripping on a rug because of how many beers he chugged and was too lazy to get up so he didn’t even get to find a hiding spot in the first place. Typical Niall.

“Louis?” I snap out of my daydreams as Harry speaks up.

“Yeah?” I ask hesitantly and I’m pretty sure he can hear my heartbeat picking up.

“Are you ever going to change your mind?”

He sounds so small and fragile when he says that, and I fear that any answer I give will cause him to burst into tears or something. Yes, yes. Of course, I will. I already have.

I swallow down my nerves. “I thought about it a lot,” I finally say, pausing as I form the sentences in my head, “And I realised that, yeah, I really do want it. I need you to know… I need you to know how much you mean to me and how much I l-love you, if you didn’t already know.”

He lets out a breath that I didn’t even know he was holding. “Is that, um, is that a  _ yes _ ?”

I fiddle with my fingers nervously and mumble, “Well, I guess… if you’ll give me a chance.”

He scoffs and I can practically see him rolling his eyes. “You know damn well that I’ll give you a chance. Did I not proclaim my love for you just two days ago?”

My eyes widen in alarm. “Yeah, I know! I was there, but… I didn’t know if you were still up for it since I, you know, essentially just left you at the beach by yourself.”

“I understand, you know, why you’re so worried,” he tells me, his voice dropping lower. “But I’m okay if we keep it a secret ‘cause I have to hide it as well.”

A lump forms in my throat at his words - the harsh reality of it. The harsh reality of having to hide our love because it’s not socially acceptable for us to love in public without being reprimanded for it. Why does love have to come at such a cost? Isn’t it free? I guess my parents are right about having to fight for love but they’re still wrong about how it’s impossible to fall in love.

I suddenly realise how patient Harry has been with me throughout all of this, willing to support me through everything without leaving or trying to rush me. He could’ve easily found another person to love by now because there are literally  _ so _ many people at school who want him (I hear the same posse of girls giggling about him every day whenever I pass by them). But instead, he chose to be patient… for  _ me _ . Fuck. What did I do to deserve him? Oh, wait, nevermind. I don’t.

“Haz?” I say as I gently lean my head on his shoulder. He hums in response. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks as if he seriously,  _ genuinely _ doesn’t know why I’m thanking him. How modest can you be?

“For waiting for me,” I reply.

He slightly turns towards me. “How could I not? I’m literally in fucking love with you.”

I look down as a contented smile pulls on my lips. “Kiss me.”

“Gladly,” he replies, turning his head even more as I lift my head off of his shoulder.

I can see his bright, green eyes gleaming in the darkness but once again, they’re heavily dilated (I finally bothered to search up what dilated eyes are also a sign of, other than being in the dark. And let me tell you, I was not disappointed). But before my brain has the time to even process what’s happening, he leans forwards and captures my lips in our second kiss… only this time, I reciprocate.

We’re both hungry for it and our lips move together in sync as if we’ve been doing this for all of our lives, despite me being a kissing virgin as well (don’t fucking judge me). The taste of vanilla on his lips is so sweet and I find myself opening my mouth for him before he can even beg for it. To finally be able to kiss Harry after  _ years _ of pining for him is surreal and just as incredible as I had imagined, if not more. I thought I would hate the feeling of putting my mouth on someone else’s mouth, and sharing saliva and germs (it sounds way worse when I put it like that), but it’s not like that at all. In fact, it’s the complete opposite.

Yeah, I could probably do this for the rest of my li-

Suddenly, we’re forced to pull apart when someone starts sliding open the closet door, letting in a bunch of light. It’s Zayn… and he has a torch… and he’s shining it on us. Fuck.

“Yes! A double find!” he cheers, popping his head back out of the doorway and yelling, “Saint Niall, I found  _ both _ of them!”

He turns back to us with a knowing smirk on his face as both Harry and I stare at him with wide eyes. But without another word, he just winks at us and removes himself from the closet, leaving the door open. I slowly turn back to Harry with my mouth hanging slightly ajar before we both heave sighs of relief and start cracking up in laughter, leaning towards each other. Only, this time,  _ I _ initiate the kiss.

We’ll start in the closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we've finally reached the end and thank you to all of you who have stayed with this story throughout the process ! i know the plot kind of ends ambiguously/open-endedly but it's because nothing has really progressed in my own life yet (except i realised that I'm probably aceflux or demisexual or something).
> 
> again, thanks for reading my story. i hope you enjoyed it and i wish all of you a lovely day/night x

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed reading this, leave kudos and comments. I'd love to read some and see your thoughts !


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